


A Good Man

by Lasenby_Heathcote



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Car breakdown, Charity Auctions, Dancing, Dishonest Mechanics, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, M/M, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings, New Beginnings, Nonbinary Character, Past Character Death, Past Riley/Sam Wilson, Picnics, Pining, Pumpkins, Road Trip, Sam Wilson Birthday Bang 2017, Small Town Festival, Song Lyrics, Trust Issues, roller skating, small town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/pseuds/Lasenby_Heathcote
Summary: Sam Wilson suffers a car breakdown in the middle of nowhere, his life ready to fall apart. But he's rescued by a man with a heart of gold and the butt of a god. While this good Samaritan sets to mending Sam's car, can he also mend his heart?Forced to stay in a small town while his car is being repaired, Sam learns more about life, love (and pumpkins) than he bargains for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written as part of the Sam Wilson Birthday Bang 2017, and I want to give a huge shout out to the mods for organising this event!  
>   
> The stunning artwork for this can be found at the end of Chapter 8 and is by the amazing [CapFalc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/capfalc), [(tumblr)](http://thunderhunk.tumblr.com).  
>   
> This is my first multi-chapter fic, so if you notice anything feel free to tell me, and I'm always open to constructive criticism :)  
>   
> I can be found on [tumblr!](http://lasenbyphoenix.tumblr.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's car breaks down and he's rescued by a handsome stranger with a selfless proposition.

 

 

Marvin Gaye had failed him.

Marvin Gaye had never failed him before.

Whenever he was down he knew the gentle bop and croon of the great singer would wash his blues away and he’d feel better. He’d always feel better. But this time it hadn’t worked. Driving back from New Corville all Sam could think about was his empty ass apartment, and his empty ass life, and Marvin Gaye wasn’t doing it for him this time. So he switched his playlist. Doobie Brothers. Chicago. They’d only gotten him a few miles down the road and then it happened. And here he was broken down on the side of the middle of ass nowhere. Marvin Gaye had failed him.

Or maybe, Sam thought morosely, he’d failed Marvin Gaye.

 _“Have you heard about the lonesome loser?”_ blared from the speakers and Sam stared at his player in disgust and hit Skip forcefully.

 _“Hang on, help is on it’s way, I’ll be there as fast as I can.”_ the next song called out, and Sam couldn’t decide if the Little River Band was mocking him or not.

 

 _Well this is shit,_ Sam thought, staring up at the sky. It was bleached almost white and seemed to go on forever, and the sheer emptiness of it daunted Sam who was used to buildings being above him, not nothing. He didn’t even bother looking out around him, he’d done that already and it was as depressing as looking at the sky. Fields and fields of dry grass and pockets of wheat? Maize? Barley? Was there even a difference in the middle of nowhere? There weren’t any signs of life, no barns, no farmhouses, in his melancholy he would almost swear no other man had set foot on this corner of earth except for the evidence of the road which he’d come down and the fences stretching out and dividing one arbitrary field from another, and he could follow either in search of civilisation but could wander for days and all in the wrong direction and he’d never know.

His phone had continued to deny him any reception and the time declared he'd been sitting there for 57 minutes, stuck on the side of the road, depressively mulling over how his life got him there.

At exactly an hour from when his car overheated and the radiator boiled over, a bird screech promoted Sam to get up off the trunk of his tired Saturn, stomp around the car to kick the tyres, and lie down on the back seat defeated.

At an hour and thirteen minutes the growling in his stomach had him tempted to chew on the upholstery in both hunger and boredom, and he missed the sound of another vehicle pull in behind him and stop. It wasn't until a door slammed shut that Sam recognised a sound other than his stomach and he sat up abruptly, nearly braining himself on the interior light in his attempt to meet the newcomer and hopefully not be dragged off and murdered in the process.

"Need some help?" The voice came from outside. A voice that sounded like a mix of honey and wood smoked bourbon and

“Uh, yeah..” Sam began only to be stunned into silence by the sight of one of the prettiest men he’d seen in his 31 years on this earth. The stranger stood taller than Sam’s own 5’11’’ stature and was thicker about the shoulders too, but the muscular stretch of torso tapered itself down his body to an athletically narrow waist packed into a pair of dark jeans and a tshirt that was being stretched to mercy. Sam bet the man had one hell of an ass too, looking at him. Sam found himself thirsty in more ways than one. The sun must be getting to him, he thought and rubbed his forehead.

“Ran outta gas?” The blond Adonis asked, waving his hand towards Sam’s car.

“Uh, no, radiator I think.”

“Pop the hood?”

“Sure,” Sam cleared his throat, reaching in to pull the hood release. “It just stopped. I don’t really know much about cars. And there’s no damn signal.”

The man chuckled, ducking his head and leaning over the examine the engine, giving Sam the chance to examine his rear in the process. Yep, one hell of an ass, Sam confirmed.  “Yeah, we’re pretty much in a dead spot here in the valley. Where you headed?”

“Colton City.” Sam shrugged. “Took the scenic route home. Guess that was a mistake.”

The man appraised Sam’s car. “Definitely the radiator. If your brakes still work, I’ve got a tow rope. I can get you to Grayson and get a replacement for you. What do you say?”

“Before I say hell yes, do I get to know the name of my roadside saviour?”

“Steve, Steve Rogers.” So god’s name is Steve, huh.

“Sam Wilson.” He offered him hand and Steve wiped his hand on his jeans before shaking.

Steve got into his truck and maneuvered it until it was lined up in front of Sam’s car, then he got out and duck through a large case and came out with a flat yellow nylon strap with a couple of heavy hook on either end.

Sam watched as Rogers shimmied his wide shoulders underneath his car to connect the tow rope beneath the car and Sam tried not to stare. The grey t-shirt bunched and hiked up to reveal a swish of hair trailing down pale but seriously well defined abs and he blinked away before blatantly staring at the other man’s crotch. Heatstroke, he thought. Must be. Forcing himself to bring his attention to the actual reason for a man to be lying provocatively underneath his broken car, Sam only barely thought that he didn’t know that he’d ever seen the underside of a car at all to know even where to tie a tow rope, when the god called Steve pushed himself back out and onto his feet, connecting the other end to the back of his truck below the license plate.

“Ever towed a car before?”

“Man, I don’t think I’ve ever called a tow truck before."

“Ok, so what’ll happen is you’ll be in your car, turn the key to unlock the steering, take off the handbrake and keep it in neutral. Once you’re ready, I’ll creep forward in my truck until the rope is taut, and when yours starts moving we’ll go a little faster, but not too much. This is going to be a slow crawl I’m afraid.”

“So what do I do when we’re moving?”

“Watch my tail lights closely, brake when I brake, indicate when I indicate, and turn when I turn. The road is fairly straight into town, only one intersection when we join the main road, but it’ll be when we get into town that the braking and turning will happen. But my place is on this side of town so there won’t be far to go, and it’s not a busy place so we shouldn’t have much traffic to contend with.”

“Well if this is rush hour…” Sam remarked sarcastically, swinging his arm out to refer to the empty country road. Steve followed his gaze, chuckling.

“You’re saying Colton City traffic isn’t as crazy as this? I’m shocked.”

Sam laughed despite himself. Apparently god was also a sarcastic asshole.

“So are you a mechanic?”

“I’m more of a general Mr Fix-It. Building renovations, other repairs, plumbing, cars, bit of just about everything.”

“You make it sound like you could build a house with your two bare hands.” Sam joked.

“Well, I wouldn’t do the wiring myself, but yeah. Probably could. Haven’t tried yet.”

Fuck me, he’s serious.

“You ready?”

“Oh! Yeah, hell yes. Let’s do this.” Steve stood by his truck until Sam had climbed into his old Saturn, turned the key, put it in neutral and disengaged the brake, sending him a thumbs up when he was done. Steve then climbed inside his cab, and Sam watched as the taillights fired up in front of him and they edged forward, his car jostling slightly as it was pulled forward onto the road. 15 years of driving instinct had him looking over his shoulder before the crept onto the road, even though he knew there wouldn’t be anything coming up behind them.

Sam flicked on his music at a low volume, skipping songs until he settled on _Proud Mary_ and let CCR fill the silence and Sam wondered what sort of music he’d be listening to if he was sitting in the truck’s cab with the man called Steve. Johnny Cash maybe? Some old school country Sam thought. Or the Beatles. Sam didn’t really put stock in the idea that you could tell what sort of music a person liked from the look of them, or tell what sort of person they are because of what music they liked, but Sam was an audiophile at heart and had always been curious about other people's music tastes, if only to find some band or song he hadn’t heard before. At least wondering about the other man’s music stylings helped fill in the time while they slunk down the empty country road.

Slow crawl was right, Sam thought as fence post after fence post crept past his vision and he watched the dial never peak over 25 miles an hour the entire time on the road. Eventually the endless fields were broken up by different crops and dirt roads and rustic looking farm buildings and Sam hoped this meant they were getting close. The brake lights ahead of him pulsed a couple of times, and Sam took that as Steve’s way of letting him know they were coming into town and Sam started looking out for other traffic and stayed ready to respond. A faded blue sign read _Grayson_ and the buildings gathered onto lining the road either side of them, simple rustic country looking shops and warehouses separated by well rooted trees and faded signage. Sam followed Steve’s movements as they weaved slowly through a series of residential streets before pulling over on a street with old villa houses with hanging wisteria and paint peeling off old fences, and faces that look like they’d been there as long as the houses themselves had. Steve hopped out of his truck and jogged the few steps to the Saturn and Sam wound down the window.

“My house is just a couple up, so what I’m going to need you to do is when I pull up onto the curb, you turn the wheel to go into the driveway then hold the handbrake on so I can unhook us and move my truck out of the way. Then I’ll push your car the rest of the way into the carport while you steer it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam said, not at all confidant, but then it’s not like he’s done this before so he’ll defer to the experienced.

Steve mounted the curb and Sam turned the wheel tight, lining the car as instructed, and when Steve dashed out and unhooked the rope and moved his truck, Sam could see the merit of the plan. Steve’s house was a tidy white bungalow with a wide covered driveway, and a handful of trees giving shade, but was lacking any other form of garden. As Steve gave the Saturn a push and it slowly rolled in, Sam made sure to stop with some room in between him and the skeleton of a motorbike propped up on blocks at the far end of the driveway. Sam engaged the handbrake and pulled out the key, a simple yet final act that seemed monumental as Kansas’s _Dust In The Wind_ was cut short and Sam was left in the stillness of a car filled with his and Riley’s memories.

The thunk of a door pulled him out of his daydream and Sam shook his head to clear it, catching sight of Steve in his rearview, and Sam grabbed his wallet and phone from the seat next to him and got out of his car. Steve patted the hood of the Saturn kindly.

“Ok, now I can get a decent look at this, and see when we can get you back on the road.” Steve smiled confidently, and his blinding smile was surprisingly reassuring. Sam felt the sombre mood melt a little and thought that maybe things could turn out ok.

“Hey man, you mind if I use your bathroom while you do that?”

“Oh shit, yeah, of course you can. Let me show you where it is.” Steve unlocked the door that lead from the carport to the house, waving Sam to follow. The house inside was much like the outside, tidy but relatively unadorned, with blue painted doors and plain gray carpeting and the odd family photo frame on the walls. A simple house for simple folk, Sam thought, almost chuckling when he saw the quilted throw barely covering a faded red couch, not unlike the one Sam had back at his own apartment in Colton City that his mother had sewn him a new cover for the previous fall.

Steve showed him through the kitchen, pulling a soda can and some leftover lasagna from the fridge with a “Help yourself if you’re hungry,” and pointed down the hall.

“Bathroom is second door on the left. And there’s a landline in the kitchen too, so you can call home and tell them where you are.”

“Thanks, but uh, there’s no one waiting for me.” Sam gave a sad smile and a shrug as he contemplated just how sad his life sounded put like that. Jeez, maybe moving wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. Steve’s eyebrows raised in what looked like surprise, and after a moment of awkward silence, cleared his throat and nodded.

“Right, well. I’ll be out with the car.”

After Sam was finished washing his hands he looked himself in the bathroom mirror. He swept a damp hand over his face, the cool water causing his skin to flinch under his touch, reminding him just how long he’d sat out in the sun. Seems he had gotten a sunburn, and he washed over his face and neck to bring the heat of his skin down. Instinctively he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror to see if Steve had any burn gel, he looked the type to burn red as a lobster, Sam mused, a thought that would likely be confirmed by the high SPF sunscreen he’d find inside. No burn gel though, just razors, shaving foam, a packet of band-aids and nail clippers. Dude didn’t even have any aspirin. Sam closed the cabinet, making his way back to the garage to ask how his car was looking, when he passed by the kitchen and the offered soda and leftovers on the breakfast counter.

He did a double take at the sight of food, his stomach agreeing heartily that he should stop and eat.

It definitely looked better than the car upholstery he’d been contemplating chowing down on a little while ago. Steve had said he could and besides, it hadn’t been very long since the guy went out to look at Sam’s car, he couldn’t have gleaned much more about it than he had by the roadside, so Sam reckoned it would be a bit pointless to ask him about it just yet.

He unwrapped the lasagna, did a quick scout around the kitchen for a cutlery drawer, pulling out a fork ready to dig right in and bumped the drawer shut with his hip. Standing in the middle of the kitchen he changed his mind about eating it cold, figuring his stomach could last a couple minutes, as he pulled open the door of the microwave and set the plate inside. While it buzzed and heated up his food, Sam popped the top of the can and took a mouthful of soda. The cold bubbling liquid was almost blissful, not realising how parched he was until it hit his throat and he almost moaned in relief, saved from making any embarrassing sounds by the ding of the microwave.

Settling in on the other side of the breakfast bar, Sam stuck his fork into the now steaming lasagna. It smelled alright, tasted much the same he thought, idly appraising the meal. Good ration of cheese to pasta, a bit light on the seasoning, and who the hell puts pumpkin in their lasagna?! Sam didn’t necessarily consider himself a lasagna purist, hell his sister converted the family with her cajun chicken version one winter, but if he weren’t a guest in this house Sam would have a word to the man about the amount of vegetables included in his cooking, or at least to tell him to cut the damn things smaller. But his momma taught him to be polite (a lesson which he mostly learnt), and no mouthful of soft orange mush would override his manners.That, and he was hungry.

Besides, Steve may not have been the one who made the lasagna, for all Sam knew it was the man’s girlfriend or mother who had the odd predilection for pumpkin. But seriously, pumpkin was meant for pie, Sam thought angrily, his mind slipping to thoughts of pumpkin pies and Thanksgiving and holidays back home with his momma and pop, and how he’d be asked about his job and if his love life had improved, and how right this moment, he had no answer for either.

Sam was lost in these thoughts slowly chewing on the last forkful of pasta when Steve pushed the door open and entered, wiping his fingers on a worn cloth, his grey T-shirt more rumpled and stained than before. Sam looked up and lowered his fork to the empty plate.

The thought of would he even make it to family Thanksgiving this year sprang up from the solemn look on Steve’s face, and Sam sat up straighter, preparing himself for bad news. Steve opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it again, clearing his throat instead. He came further inside, poured himself a glass of water and stood at the sink, droplets of water sliding down the outside of his glass and onto the bench as he drank.

When Steve hadn’t said anything for half a minute Sam braved the topic.

“Radiator?”

Steve put the near empty glass down, wiping his hand across the water droplets on the bench then looked up at Sam, his expression apologetic. “Little more than that, I’m afraid.”

Sam had kinda figured that much out. He steeled himself for the worst. “How much more?”

Steve took a deep breath. “Radiator needs replacing, that’s for certain. But the size of the crack in it means it’s been eroding for a while, and when it does that it runs the risk of the coolant getting into parts of the engine where it shouldn’t which weakens seals. This, and it overheating because there’s not enough coolant where it should be, puts pressure on the head gasket, and uh, it looks like that’s given up. That’s what finally broke and why you stopped today.”

Sam wasn’t the most mechanically minded person, Riley was the weekend gearhead of the two of them, and Sam shook his head to try and clear it from the uncomfortable memory.

“That sounds bad.”

Steve nodded. “A broken head often means a broken something else, and you don’t know what else may have been cooked until you get the head off and the problem is it’s basically in the middle of the engine. You have to take the whole thing out to get to it,and you’d have to check the hoses and thermostat connected to the radiator too. Any part of them could have contributed to the damage of the overheating."

Sam swallowed a couple of times to clear the lump in throat, his fears confirmed. “Is, uh, there a garage in town we could tow it to?”

Steve hesitates before answering, his face changed from one  of concern to of dislike. “Yes, Strike Crew Garage and Gas. But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No?”

Steve sighs, irritation flickering across his face and he squeezed his palms together.

“They’re fucking crooks. Sorry for swearing at you, but they are. They make up shit that doesn’t need fixing to pad the bill, downright break things just to fix them, hold the price of gas higher than anywhere else and get away with it because they’re the only garage in town and we’re a little too far to justify going to Dresden Stoop on a regular basis just for gas. Several of us suspect they even target unfamiliar cars to get at out-of-towners, seen a few get unexpected flat tires that lead to those people paying for repairs I’m DAMN sure they didn’t actually need…”

Steve stopped himself and took a deep breath, looking Sam in the eye. “The work your car needs would cost you over a couple grand at decent mechanic - Rumlow and Rollins would charge you close to eight. I don’t say this about many people, but I really don’t like them.”

That sounded like an understatement, Sam thought, but was too preoccupied with his predicament.

“A couple grand…” he muttered under his breath. His severance package would cover it with no issues but he really wanted to keep as much as possible as a parachute fund, in case he didn’t get that job.

“Minimum. Honestly you’d save yourself a lot of trouble by spending that money on something second hand. I can ask around, I think I know a couple of folks in town with a car they’re looking to sell?”

A new car. Hell, this isn’t what Sam was expecting.

The little feeling that things might just be alright had disappeared properly, pushed from his mind by the repeated thought of Riley, bringing with it a clenching in his gut he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Riley had picked that car himself, economical, reliable and within their budget, and now it seemed that that car was all Sam had left of him. He knew, logically, that getting a new car would be the better way to go, he didn’t really have the time to waiting on his car to get fixed, especially if that job came through for him, but he was loathe to let go of this piece of Riley, with all of his life having gone to shit, he just wanted… one… thing… he could rely on. One… thing… that didn’t change.

The look on Sam’s face must have been a grave one, because Steve started rambling off options.

“It’s the amount of work that makes it costly, rather than the cost of the parts themselves. I could do it for you if you like! You’d only have to pay for the parts and then you don’t have to let the car go now. It would just take a while and you’d have to bus back or hire a car to get you back to Colton City to work and then to come back here to collect it once it was done…”

“I lost my job.” Sam interrupted, his voice gravelly with emotion. “I’ve got some savings but I’d rather use those for if I need to move to get another job. That’s why I was in New Corville, job interview. Don’t really want to be putting any big amount on a new car, and you can never tell what issues an old car might be hiding…” he trailed off, rubbing his face with his hands, his fingertips searing marks over his sunburnt skin. What the hell was he going to do now? Steve leaned forward, gripping Sam’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Look, Sam, it doesn’t have to be decided right this second. If you want a second opinion, I’ll tow it to Dresden Stoop and you can have a proper mechanic look it over. Maybe it’s not as dire as it looks.” Steve said, trying to be hopeful. “Probably have to be in the morning though, but the offer’s there, and it’ll give you the chance to sleep on it.”

Sleep sounded good right now. There was still a chance he would wake up and it was all a dream, right?

“Yeah, yeah sleeping on it sounds good… uh, there must be a hotel or something in town right?”

“A couple, but you know, if you want, I got a couch in the den that folds out you’d be welcome to. If you want.”

Sam laughed tiredly. “Thanks man, but you’ve done a fuck-ton for me already. I can go to a hotel for the night, get me outta your hair for a bit.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I can’t go on abusing your hospitality.”

“I don’t mind, really. But if that’s what you want. You got a bag? We can throw it in my truck and I’ll take you into town, show you where the hotel is.”

Sam pulled on the brave face he’d perfected after Riley died. “Sounds good to me, man. Show me your town.”

Steve’s stomach growled, the sudden noise dissipating the subdued mood, making them both laugh. “I’ll, uh, show you the diner too. C’mon.”

 

 

The diner was called Robbie’s Milk Bar and took the corner space on what seemed a busy intersection (at least what Sam assumed was busy for a town like this), and was flanked either side by a mom and pop hardware store and what the sign said was post office, but the original facade said was once a bank. Steve held open the diner door for an older couple exiting, who greeted him by name and shook his hand on their way out. Sam stepped through the offered door, taking in the classic diner vibe, with old leather booths and red topped bar stools, the only thing missing was the black and white checkered floor and the neon encrusted jukebox in the corner and he’d be in a Route 66 postcard. A voice over the radio announced they were listening to some classic hits and the Spin Doctors filled the air and a petite woman with bright red hair and a blue apron walked up to him.

“Hey stranger. In for a bite?”

Before he could answer, she turned to greet Steve, who patted him on the shoulder and winked.

“Best place in town for food, second best for company.” Steve declared, eliciting a sharp punch to the arm from the redhead with the perfect eyeliner. Steve laughed heartily, hugging the woman who he introduced as Natasha, a friend of his who ran the establishment and made “the best baklava in the valley.” which caused her to roll her eyes and lean up to peck him on the cheek.

“Hey! Hey! Get your hands off my woman! You had your chance Rogers!” shouted a messily dressed man about the same age as Steve, sitting awkwardly at the booth nearest the counter, his body contorted to accommodate for the large plaster cast he wrapping his lower leg.

“Clint, what the hell did you do to yourself?”

Clint waggled his hands in the air in an exaggerated shrug. “I was swerved to avoid some kids on the rink, toppled over the gate. I swear they moved the gate on me, it’s never been on that side before.”

“It’s always been on that side. You were just going backwards, you twit.” Natasha said fondly, swatting him with her order pad, which the guy try to dodge but couldn’t and let out a startled yelp. She shook her head and turned and narrowed her eyes at Sam.

“So Stevie, who you got with you tonight? I thought I’d met all your friends.”

“Sam here got into a bit of car trouble on the North road, I towed him to town, and I’m having a look at his car for him.”

The pair shared a look of mutual understanding. “Did he save your cat from a tree too? Make you milk and cookies?” Clint asked, laughing to himself as he extracted two silver crutches from under the table, and pushed himself to the edge of the seat. Steve hooked an arm under his elbow to steady him as Clint awkwardly got to his feet.

“What?” Sam asked, feeling very much left out of the conversation. Natasha seemed to take pity on him and explained.

“Steve here is the town’s very own good Samaritan, does enough good turns to keep the karma up for the entire valley, leaves all the troublemaking for the rest of us.”

Steve rolled his eyes, stepping out of the way of Clint and his crutches as he hobbled towards the door labeled _Gents_. Natasha excused herself to attend another table, telling them to take a seat anywhere and she’d be back in a minute to see what they wanted to eat.

Sam turned to Steve and raised an eyebrow. “Where are my cookies, man? I feel deprived.”

Steve stood flabbergasted for a moment before retorting back. “You ate my dinner and now you want cookies? What happened to not abusing my hospitality?”

“I was stuck on the side of that road for a really long time…” Sam snarked back, playing up the pity card, not quite as well as his little sister could, but clearly good enough because the look on Steve’s face crumbled and he groaned.

“Shut up and sit somewhere. I’ll buy us dinner.”

They took a seat by the window in the next booth over, removing their jackets, and while Sam considered the menu, Steve told him about the diner and it’s people. Natasha, or Nat as she prefered, ran the place, but it was owned by Rhodey, the serious looking black man at the grill, whose grandfather was the Robbie who opened the business over 50 years prior. Nat had only been there a few years but Clint had worked for them since he was eighteen, having grown up in Dresden Stoop, the next town up the valley. Steve described Clint as “a bit of a human disaster”, which lead to Clint throwing a drinking straw over the booth divide at Steve, yelling that he’s not as deaf as people think. According to Steve, they’d been together since not long after Nat had come to town, and engaged for almost as long, but had no plans set for the wedding, a fact which caused a great deal of consternation to the people in town. Sam assumed that was a small town thing because he couldn’t imagine any of his neighbours caring that much about his relationship status like that, in fact, Sam couldn’t even name most of his neighbours let alone identify who was married or single, which pretty much confirmed his point.

Natasha brought over their order of cheeseburgers, side of chili fries and a ginger beer each, and even though Sam had devoured the pumpkin laced lasagna from earlier, it didn’t seem to have affected him hunger as he stared at the massive burger on his plate. Damn, he thought. There were one or two places in the city where you could get a burger this big, but even then they didn’t look as good as this. Steve was already a mouthful ahead of him, but Sam dug in with equal gusto matching him bite for bite. Finishing the burger with a satisfied sigh, he sat back against the smooth leather and picked at the last of his fries, staring out the window at the sleepy town. Evening was starting to fall and yellow lights glowed from the windows across the street in shop that Sam couldn’t quite make out. This place was so removed from the city that it almost seemed like a dream. Across the booth from him, Steve cleared his throat softly, setting down his empty glass.

“I meant what I said, I’d do the work to get your car up and running again. It’s really no problem.”

Sam met his eye and sighed, heavily this time. He hadn’t forgotten his conundrum, it had been ticking in the back of his mind since they left Steve’s and Sam really didn’t know what was best to do.

“Yeah, but what would I do? If I took you up on that, I’d be left without a car til it’s done, No job, no car, sitting my lonely ass on my lonely couch in my lonely ass apartment in the city where I don’t even know my neighbours names. I like to keep busy, but that’s a lot harder to do without a car. Or a job.”

Steve glanced around the diner, like he was trying to find the right thing to say.

“Looks like Nat’s hiring while Clint is laid up. Could work here til your car is done.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Steve raised his eyebrows then turned to lean over the side of the booth towards where Nat was busy bussing tables, waving to get her attention.

“Hey Nat, if Sam was to hang around, you’d give him a job for a few weeks til his car is fixed, right?”

She stacked a couple more plates into her tray, pocketing some change off a table then swung by, stopping to lean against their table and wriggle her feet. “If he’s sticking around til after the festival, then yes. He’s hired.” She said after a pause, and Steve turned and looked at Sam triumphantly.

“There you go.”

Sam looked between the two of them, not ready to accept the offer as genuine. “Can I get back to you tomorrow? I’m sleeping on it.” He said, erring on the side of caution and indecision. Nat shrugged with one shoulder and balanced the tray on her hip, ready to move on.

“As long as I know before Thursday. This weekend the Brass Monkey is supposed to be passing through, I’d need to organise someone by then.”

Steve thanked her and asked Sam if he was ready to go. Sam nodded and reached for his wallet, but was beaten to the punch by Steve putting enough money under his empty glass to cover both meals.

“Hey man, no. You’re not paying for me. Take half of that back.”

“You’ve had a tough enough day, I’m happy to-”

“Don’t. Just...don’t. I can pay my own way.”

Sam felt a lump threatening to form in his throat, a mix of the day’s events starting to catch up on him and the desire not to be pitied, not matter hot pitiable he might be in that moment. Steve considered him carefully then nodded and removed a couple of notes from the pile, holding the glass so that Sam could put his share and tip on the pile with his. He pocketed his wallet and pulled on his jacket, swallowing the lump down inside. Just gotta get through this day, he told himself.

Steve called his farewell to Nat and the rest, and Sam opened the door, stepping back as a gangly looking young man came inside. Steve stopped him cheerfully and the young man smiled back.

“Oh, here’s the man we want to see! Phil, does your mom have a room spare for my friend tonight?”

The smile on Phil’s face died and was replaced by an apologetic frown. “Actually no, we’ve got that wedding tomorrow remember? Half the Hill family is filling up the hotel and the Motor Inn is contending with the rest of the Carter’s. Sorry Steve.”

Nat met them at the door, carrying a stack of catering boxes and handed them to Phil. He shrugged a goodbye and awkwardly juggled them while backing out and they followed him out the door. Out on the street, Steve spread his hands and shook his head at Sam.

“Phil’s family owns the hotel. But it looks like they’re a no go, for tonight at least. Couch is still up for grabs, Sam. Den even has it’s own bathroom.”

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed. Part of him just wanted to anguish in some privacy, but the comforts of home, even someone else’s home, were a real temptation. Sam eyed Steve, wondering how it was that he’d only just met the man that day, and yet felt like he could trust him. “Sure your girlfriend won’t mind?”

Steve stopped in his tracks, startled by the question. “What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

“What I heard about you, I’d be surprised if you didn’t have someone.” Sam shrugged, not quite sure what made him ask the question in the first place.

“Oh, umm. No. I don’t have uh, anyone. Not even a dog.”

Well, that was something Sam could relate to, and given his rough situation he suddenly felt bad for bringing it up. “Hell, ok then I’ll stay with you. How can I turn down a fold-out with a ensuite?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes Steve up on his generous offer, and starts meeting some of the locals.

The next morning, Sam sat silently at Steve’s breakfast bar, sipping slowly at a cup of black coffee. He was staring into space weighing up his life and options when Steve came in the front door. He was dressed in running shoes, trackpants and a small t-shirt like the one he’d had on when he’d come across Sam the day before. Sam wondered absentmindedly is Steve even had any t-shirts in his proper size as he watched him grab a glass from the cupboard and Sam nodded in greeting, not showing his surprise that he hadn’t known that Steve had even left.

“Sorry for ducking out. Neighbour two doors up flagged me down on my run. She needed me to unstick her basement door, her cat somehow got in and couldn’t get out. Then she wouldn’t let me leave without making me some breakfast, and I just couldn’t get away from there.” Steve rambled as he filled the glass from the tap and took a swig.

Sam raised his eyebrows. That was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “You know, I’m not gonna be offended for being left to fend for myself because you got caught up flirting with the girl next door.”

Steve choked on his mouthful of water, wiping his chin and checking his shirt for errant drips of water. “She’s 63, I don’t think she was flirting.”

If I was 63 and saw you running by in a skin tight shirt, I’d damn well be flirting, Sam thought, age be damned.

“Uh huh, so you just go and help rescue cats in your spare time, huh?”

“I was unsticking a door. Everyone in town knows I’m a handyman.”

“And town saint apparently.”

“Ok, you don’t need to start that too.” Steve said accusingly from inside the pantry, pointing a finger at Sam. He emerged with a loaf of bread and set a couple of slices into the toaster, leaning against the counter to it cook.

“Ok, Ok. Hey, uh,” Sam cleared his throat, swallowing the little bit of pride that was trying to trying to choke him as he tried to find the words to say what he wanted to. “Were you serious about that offer? My car, the place to crash, the job?”

Steve turned away from the toaster to meet Sam’s eye. “Yeah, I meant it.”

“I’d, uh, like to take you up on that.”

Steve smiled and pushed his hand out over the breakfast bar. “Sure.”

Sam lowered his mug to shake his hand, offering a tentative smile of his own. Maybe things could turn out alright after all. The moment was cut short by the ding of the toaster and Steve turned to attend to his breakfast, giving Sam a decent view of the way the trackpants stretched across his ass. Yeah, sure she wasn’t flirting with you. 63 my ass, Sam thought, turning his attention back to his coffee.

“I’m finishing some deck repairs today, you think you’ll be able to occupy yourself ok?” Steve spoke over his shoulder.

Sam mulled it over for a moment before deciding on a plan.

“Might as well head down to the diner, get started there before your friend thinks twice about hiring me.”

“Ok then. I’ll drop you off on my way.”

 

 

 

Fleetwood Mac’s _The Chain_ sung from the radio, welcoming him as he opened the door to the only other place in town that looked familiar. It was still early and Sam could only see one person behind the counter, the same man he was pretty sure was working the grill the night before. The man half looked up the the sound of the door and nodded at Sam.

“What’ll it be?”

“Hey, uh. I was wondering if Nat was in? She mentioned last night about maybe giving me a job?”

The other man straightened to get a decent look at Sam and narrowed his eyes. “You’re the guy Steve is helping, aint you?”

“Yeah, he said your family own the place, is that right?”

The man nodded and held out his hand. “James Rhodes. Where you from?”

“Sam Wilson. Colton City. Car broke down on the way home.”

The door clanged behind them and Nat came in, wearing a big red coat and warm smile. She patted Sam on the arm on the way past and she ducked in behind the counter.

“I thought I might be seeing you again. You thinking you want the job?”

“If it’s still on offer.”

She unbuckled her coat and disappeared momentarily into a back room, and reappeared pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

“Festival is in a month, and goes for 4 days. You’d have to be around til then. And it’s a mix of day and evenings, you’d be covering Clint’s shifts as they are, no juggling around because it’s short term. Any issues with that?”

A month in town? Fuck it, Sam thought. It’s not like he had anywhere else to be. And he was overdue a holiday.

“No ma’am.”

She smirked at the affectation and cocked her head to the side to look at Rhodes, a silent _“what do you think?_ ” passing between them and he jutted his chin in a way that could either mean “ _good with me_ ” or _“it’s up to you_ ”, Sam couldn’t quite tell. In the end Rhodes turned his back on them and Nat smiled and asked

“When can you start?”

Sam opened his arms in a “ _I'm free right now_ ” gesture and said “When do you need me?”. She nodded her head, impressed and reached down and threw a blue apron across the counter at him.

“If you can count money and not drop anything, I’ll keep you on.”

He caught the apron in one hand, and removed his sweater, tying the apron strings behind him. Nat showed him where the office, staff cubby holes and restrooms were, handwriting a schedule out for him and handed that and an order-pad to him. Sam skimmed his eyes over the schedule before folding it into his pocket, pulling out his phone in habit, the signal banner reading _emergency calls only._ That’s right, Rogers has said the town was a deadzone. He felt strange turning it off, but did so and put it back in his pocket.

“Anything I should know before I start?”

“Check for me before you turn around and be prepared for their curiosity.”

Sam assumed that meant the townsfolk, and made a mental note of both. He’d seen the way she moved back and forth the night before and although having never worked hospitality before, knew that they’d have to dodge each other a fair bit.

“What about you, Rhodes? Any advice?”

Rhodes looked over his shoulder and after a moment, replied.

“No shit about Tony and keep your orders readable and we’ll all be just fine.”

Sam flipped the top of the order pad and grabbed a pen from a cup on the counter by the register, scribbling a circle to get the ink flowing and wrote in his averagely clear handwriting, _Who’s Tony?,_ holding the pad out for the cook to read. A soft look crossed his serious demeanour and he simply said “Someone very special to me.” in a way that was both warm but with a touch of warning. It was a tone Sam was more than familiar with, having used it himself whenever he was preparing to introduce a boyfriend to someone new. He nodded at the cook with respect.

“No problem with me, man.”

  


The day ticked over, seeming at times drawn out, but Sam was kept occupied by his focus to memorise as many of the things Nat showed him as possible, and kept the top page of his order book as a personal crib sheet for the more important notes. Each booth had a number laminated onto the table and the floor was split between the servers by odd and evens, new orders went in on the left and came out on the right, and at the end of the day tips were shared. Two other servers worked the diner too, plus a dishwasher called Happy who shared cooking duties with Rhodey and Nat told Sam he’d share a few shifts with Pete, but probably not see much of Dottie who works the nights that Nat and Clint would take off.

His first customers were an older couple who seemed more interested in knowing more about Sam than actually telling him their order and he stood there politely for several minutes with his order pad out before the couple remembered that because he was new, he wouldn’t know their usual order. This pretty much set the tone for the entire day, Sam fielding more question about his life than the menu, which he dodged to the best of his ability without being overtly rude.

Sam was interrupted mid afternoon by a big man in a bright orange hunting jacket and a bowler hat whose imposing appearance was punctuated by a mustache a walrus would be envious of. He waltzed into the diner, practically making a beeline for Sam, who got the shock of his life when the big man reached out and slapped a set of keys into his hand.

“Sam, right? Rogers stopped by this morning, said you’d need a car to run around in while you were in town. Tan Crown Vic,” he said, pointing out the window. “she’s all gassed and ready for ya. See you round!”

Sam had barely had the chance to follow where he was pointing before he exited the way he came, and it took Sam a second to gather his wits. He followed him out the door for some answers, but the guy was across the road and down the street by the time Sam found which way the orange jacket had gone. Was that some kind of friendly small town cryptid? Turning to go back inside, sure enough, parked on the street was an old tan coloured Crown Vic, the sort of car his dad had had at his age but in an uglier brown, and Sam glanced at the keys in his hand, but they offered no further answers for him.

He turned back for the diner, and when inside he was surprised no one asked him what was going on, as though that was a perfectly natural occurrence around here. He shrugged it off, shoved the keys into his pocket and snuck back to the table he was about to check on.

“How are you finding everything?” Nat asked some time later, nodding to the order pad in his hand. Sam tapped the edge of the pad into his palm and tilted his head, thinking.

“I’m getting the hang of it. Though I must say, for a small town it sure seems to be busy.”

“Yeah, but most of it is passing through.: She agreed. “We’ve got a better view of the valley than Dresden Stoop.” she added, and Sam had to assume that this far from the city, a decent view would be a boon for a place like this.

 

The rest of his shift continued uneventfully, and when it as time for his to clock off, Nat waved him down, taking his apron and order pad. Her eyes caught sight of his notes on the top page and she smiled, taking a marker and labeled the back of it in big letters SAM, and placed it name up on a pile next to the register. Sam’s feet were feeling the day’s work and he debated between sitting in a booth for a few minutes now, or waiting until he got back to Steve’s lest he not want to get up. Thinking of Steve’s place, Sam was suddenly aware he didn’t know how to get back there and he reached in his pocket to grab his phone, when he realised that he didn’t have the guy’s number either, and that his phone wouldn’t work here anyway. How they hell did these people live like this? He wondered, then stopped when his fingers found the set of keys he’d been given earlier. Well at least he knows _how_ he’ll be getting back to Steve’s place, and he swung his head around to ask Nat or even Rhodes for some directions. Nat appeared in her big red coat with the sweater he’d forgotten about, his body still warm from moving about all day.

“Steve called earlier and I suggested we take you out for a drink, celebrate your first day. He’s gonna pick up Clint and meet us there, if you’re feeling like it?”

Solves one problem, Sam thought. “Sure, why not.”

“We’ll take my car. Catch ya tomorrow Rhodey, Happy, Dot!” She called, and Sam echoed a wave, receiving farewells in return. Sam pocketed the keys again, leaving the Crown Vic parked where it was. He figured he’d ask Steve about it and they could figure out where it goes from there. Nat’s car turned out to be a jeep, also red, and when she fired it up the radio came to life and Sam hummed along to Cheap Trick, not paying much attention to where they were going.

Minutes later Sam and Nat were sitting in the parking lot of a decent if rustic looking bar, singing the final chorus of _I Want You To Want Me_ , waiting for the final chords to fade away before turning the key and killing the engine. When Sam got out of the jeep, he recognised Steve’s truck a couple of spots up.

“Not bad, Wilson.”

“Not bad yourself, Red.”

Natasha gave him a glance as they crossed the lot to the entrance. “You ever karaoke?”

Sam stopped in the middle of the lot, crossing his arms. “If you’re trying to tell me there’s karaoke in there, I may just quit.”

“Relax, the guy who runs the machine only lives here over the summer. You’re safe. Although with a voice like that, I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to.”

Sam shrugged, pushing back the memory of him and Riley _SingStar_ duelling his sister’s a few years ago, and just said “It’s a family tradition, but I only ever sing with family.”

She eyed him quietly and nodded, thankfully not inquiring further. They pushed open the door and the inside looked much like the outside, well lit, well maintained, but with that feel like it hasn’t changed in about 30 years. Pool tables and bar leaners, TVs playing football and a bunch of old licence plates tacked all over the walls. Even the jukebox was playing _Take It Easy_ , and the whole atmosphere seemed like it was something Sam had seen in a dozen movies, sitting on his old comfy couch with a beer and some popcorn and Sam felt himself relax. This he liked. He followed Nat as she immediately wove her way through the place with an ease that told Sam they came here often enough to have a favourite spot, which turned out to be an alcove where a few dart boards were half tucked behind some old bead curtains.

At a bar leaner sat Steve and Clint, the latter precariously perched with his cast propped on the foot rail and leaning back against a wall.

“Here they are!” he cried out, holding his arms open and leaning to the side on such an angle that Sam thought the man was going to face plant to the floor, but turned out to be surprisingly well balanced, as he kissed Nat, engulfing her in a hug. Sam nodded to Steve, who raised his bottle in greeting before raising to to his lips.

“Hey man, how’s the deck?” Sam asked, pulling out a barstool to sit down.

“Wait, did you just ask him _how’s his dick!?”_ Clint pulled away from Nat, with a start and Steve choked on his mouthful, wiping off his chin with a frown.

“Dammit, Barton. You know I’m fixing up Fury’s deck this week. I told Sam about it this morning.”

“Oh so he was really asking about Fury’s… _deck.”_ Clint doubled down, drawing out the last word to distort his accent, and this time everyone rolled their eyes. Nat pinched him on the hand, then kissed him again when he complained.

“Get me a drink.” She said, curling up on the stool next to him.

Clint waved his arms to mutely indicated his immobile state and injury and then pointed both hands at Steve.

“Get her a drink.” he pleaded and Steve slid smoothly off his seat, nonplussed at the direction.

“What do you like?” Steve asked Sam and Sam glanced in the direction of the bar, trying to make out any signage to tell him what’s on offer.

“Something light. It’s been a long day.” Sam said, giving up on reading the signage from this distance and put his faith in Steve’s alcohol selection abilities.

While Steve made his way to the bar, Sam settled in, folding his arms and leaning forward onto the table, enjoying being off his feet and surrounded by good music. Clint tapped his knuckle on the tabletop and poked his chin in Sam’s direction.

“So how was my shift?”

“Yeah, alright.” Sam said truthfully. He’d found the pace manageable despite being new to the job and his feet were only feeling it because he was too used to working at a desk.

“How much did you get in tips?”

“Actually I have no idea.” Sam admitted, he’d been depositing them into the jar like Nat had shown him and it had completely escaped him that he’d be getting some of it back when they were done. Nat pulled a small paper envelope out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have kept it.” She reassured him as he took the envelope and pocketed it without looking. He didn’t know what to expect, but he’d take a look later when he was alone.

“So where did you work before crash landing in our little town?” Clint asked bluntly.

“Insurance company in Colton City. I was in HR, doing employment screening and mediating inter-office disputes and such. But they, uh, they downsized. Cut a lot of jobs off the list and mine was one of them.”

“Jerks.”

“You got that right.” Sam laughed coldly, eager to change the subject. “What about you? Steve said you’d been at the diner for...ever?” he trailed off, making Clint snort into his empty bottle.

“I wasn’t always at the diner. I was a carnie outta school, from up the Stoop, after a bit I washed up here and Mama Rhodes took me in.”

“You were a what-now from where?”

“A carnival worker, from Dresden Stoop.” Steve clarified, suddenly appearing with four bottles of beer and two baskets of wings, carefully placing them down on the table between them. “We ordered some wings before you got here, figured you two might not have eaten yet.”

“Not since four.” Nat confirmed, claiming a bottle and a wing. Steve handed Sam his beer, holding his own out as well, and the group clinked bottles in toast.

“To your first day in Grayson.” Steve toasted, and Sam looked at his beer before taking a swig. Steve had got him a brand of radler he’d tried once before and remembered liking, and it was still as good as he recalled.  

Sam enjoyed his beer while Steve described the work he was doing for the ominously named Old Man Fury and laughed as Clint lamented the lack of quality television at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Sam insisted on getting the next round with his day’s tips, and he stopped by the jukebox on the way to queue up some Manfred Mann and Roberta Flack, biting back a smirk when his eyes glanced upon the scratched out option of _What’s New Pussycat_. Reigning in the temptation, Sam went back to the table, drinks in hand. His companions seemed to have noticed his detour and were eager to know his music choice.

“Tom Jones.” Sam deadpanned and they all exchanged glances warily as _Ain’t No Sunshine_ crooned it’s last note, and together breathed a sigh of relief when it was replaced by _Blinded By The Light._

“Fuck, dude. Don’t even…” Clint whistled and Sam snorted.

“You really think I’d do that to you?” he chuckled, grabbing a greasy wing from the pile.

When the baskets were empty, Nat returned them to the bar, flipping the bird to the catcall from the pool tables where a bunch of middle aged men in leather jackets were drinking more than they were playing. Steve raised his chin to watch the guys a bit closer, but they caused no other trouble and he relaxed.

“You play?” Sam leaned over to ask Steve, pointing in the direction of the pool tables. Steve shook his head, rubbing a hand through the back of his hair.

“Nah,when I was 21 I got into a fight with a guy trying to shark a buddy, got cracked over the head with a cue. Turns out my buddy was cheating too. Not worth the stitches.” Steve said with a wry grin. Shame, Sam thought, picturing a younger Steve bending over a pool table and he had to grab a mouthful of beer to make sure he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Steve seemed blissfully unaware and kept talking.

“But darts I’m always up for, most of the time with Clint.” Steve beckoned Sam closer, “but never, _never_ take a bet against him. He might act the fool, but the guy has the eye of a hawk. Remember that.”

Sam met his determined stare, “Is the guy really a carnie?”

Steve sat back, “Where do you think he learned it?” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam laughed, sure that someone in the group had to be pulling his leg. But he let it go, he was actually having a pretty good night, and it seemed so unlikely that only 24 hours ago he’d been despairing what he was gonna do with his life.

Eventually when Steve asked if he wanted another drink, Sam had to refuse. He was feeling good now, and could easily go a few more rounds, but one of them had to drive back and he couldn't remember off the top of his head when he was meant to start work the next day. So Sam and Steve said their goodbyes to the others, took their empty bottles to the bar and made their way outside.

Sam got into Steve’s truck, and it was then he suddenly recalled the car parked back at the diner.

“Hey Steve, did you organise a car for me?”

Steve looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“Dude came in today, handed me some keys and walked out.”

“Mustache, bowler hat?” Steve asked.

“Looked like bigfoot in a high-viz vest? Yeah, that was the dude.” Sam confirmed and Steve barked out a laugh.

“Don’t laugh man, I swear I thought I was in a David Lynch movie or something. Guy didn’t even tell me his name.”

“Tim Dugan, or Dum Dum if you’re brave enough to say that to his face.” Steve explained. “Yeah I swung by his place ‘cause I knew he would have something you could borrow, I didn’t expect him to come by the diner though. Did he say where the car was?”

“It’s at the diner. Parked out front. You don’t get tickets here, do you?”

“Nah, no meters here. Well, how about we swing by and you can pick it up? Give you some idea of the way home.”

“Yeah, that. I’ll be needing some directions too.”

“Sure.” Steve smiled, reaching over and patting Sam on the hand, then starting up the truck. The radio was silent, not answering Sam’s curiosity, and he rubbed his eye, wondering if it would be rude to turn it on. Figuring he’d find out what Steve listens to sooner or later, Sam opted to wind down the window a fraction, letting the cool air run over his head as they drove through the now dark streets. His sunburn from yesterday still stung a little, but he’d been so warm all day he’d not noticed until now.

Pulling up to the diner, the car was still sitting there, and Sam wandered over, fishing the foreign set of keys from his pants pocket and inserting them into the door. It opened easily, and he was about to get in when he saw Steve had got out of his truck also, and was looking up and down the car.

“Just checking the tyres.” Steve offered.

“Hmm?”

“Never mind, all looks good. Follow the truck.”

“I think I’m getting used to that.” Sam muttered

He left the Crown Vic parked on the roadside outside Steve’s house, rather than trying to squeeze it up the driveway behind the truck. Steve let him in, clasping his shoulder wishing him “Goodnight.”, and Sam toed off his shoes and socks, dropping his sweater, shirt and pants in a pile next to his suitcase and flopped down onto the flattened couch, pulling the blanket over him, too tired to even brush his teeth. He tiredly promised his mother to brush twice come morning, and fell asleep shortly thereafter, idly thinking of menu’s, decks and an ass in blue jeans.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets the rest of the gang, and the boys go see a band.

Sam entered the diner just before he had to clock on, after a man sitting outside the barber’s shop where he’d parked got him chatting about the Crown Vic and Sam had trouble getting away as the old man reminisced about the cars of his youth. Inside the diner, Rhodes was warming up the grill and a guy who Sam couldn’t tell was older or younger than him was preparing tables. Sam couldn’t see Nat anywhere.

“Oh hey!, You have to be Sam. Pete Quill.” He stuck out his hand and shook Sam’s with energy. The guy had curly hair with a blue streak through it and and some colourful tattoos that reached out from under the collar and short sleeve of his polo and smiled at Sam with a toothy grin.

Working with Pete was a lot different than any other shift he’d worked thus far. Where Nat would give him his space to figure his way around, but always kept a watchful eye, Quill bounced about the place like he had the energizer bunny in his pants, danced up and down the diner and yammered at absolutely everybody. Sam couldn’t help but like the guy.

Sometime that afternoon, as Sam reached over to drop his latest table’s tips into the jar, Sam accidentally elbowed someone who was leaning on the counter. The brunette with the short hair and a black pencil skirt, turned to face him, rolling their eyes and tutting dramatically, standing defiantly with their arms half crossed and one hand carefully stroking their stylishly trimmed goatee.

“Sorry about that.” Sam offered sincerely, but the person in front of him only raised a skeptical and well manicured eyebrow.

“Say They.”

Sam blinked in confusion. Was this entire town like the Twilight Zone? What the hell happened to proper introductions? The person in front of him stared at him expectantly and Sam felt like their eyes weren’t the only ones.

“They.” Sam echoed slowly.

“Good, now you know what to call me.”

Oh, right. Sam thought, nodding in comprehension. “Ok.”

Their other well shaped eyebrow raised to meet the first. “That was… easy.”

Sam shrugged. “My cousin has a friend who’s a They. It’s all good.”

“So you don’t have any questions for me?”

“Yeah, are you gonna order or are you just gonna hold up the bar?”

Sam’s curt response made them smirk and they visibly relaxed and offered a hand. “You know, I think I’m going to like you. I’m Tony.”

 _No shit about Tony_ , rung through Sam’s head and he couldn’t help but smile and shook Tony’s hand firmly.

“Rhodes said he had someone special. So that would be you?”

“Yes they are.” Rhodes answered for them, coming around the counter to wrap an arm around Tony’s waist and kiss them on the cheek, and Tony leaned into Rhodes, returning the kiss. Rhodey pointed at Sam, issuing a decree to not let Pete burn the place down and then the two of them left arm in arm, and Sam was left side-eyeing Pete who was muttering under his breath.

“It was only one time.”

“Really?” Sam asked incredulously and Pete shrugged it off, changing the subject.

“Hey! You like music right? You totally have to come and see my band play! We’ve got the best sound in the whole valley.”

He continued in this vein for the rest of the afternoon and by the time evening came and Dottie showed up to relieve them, Sam had heard the background on Pete’s bandmates, musical influences and song stylings and had promised to see them play at the bar in a weeks time.

  


Steve had warned Sam that although he had promised to fix his car, the work would have to fit around the other jobs he had lined up, and when his friend was available to help him hoist out the engine. In the meantime, Steve had shifted his motorcycle to under a tarpaulin around by the back of the house, clearing some workspace in the car port, and in that first week had removed the radiator and it’s connecting hoses, which lay spread out on a sheet on the ground.

On the day Sam wasn’t due at the diner until late afternoon, Sam enjoyed a sleep in and spent a lazy hour checking his emails on his laptop, and finding no reply about the job interview, used Steve’s landline to call his mom. While enjoying his morning coffee he nodded along to her opinion on the weather and the local government and laughed at her descriptions of his sister’s new hair colour and his father’s attempts at softball coaching. Telling her to give his love to the family when she had to leave to babysit his nephews, Sam hung up the phone with a sigh.

He padded his bare feet into the kitchen and rinsed his cup under the faucet, shaking the drips off when he heard a clang from outside. Placing the cup down on the bench, Sam tuned his hearing to make out the voices coming from outside.

“I was thinking we attach the pulley to that beam, and then between the two of us we should be able to manage the hoist, and it would give us some space to maneuver. What do you think?”

"I think you’re certifiable is what I think. You think you know a little bit about cars and all of a sudden you're offering to pull the engine out of a stranger's junkheap. In your own carport. Because you don’t have enough jobs to do this time of year."

"Dum Dum, we’ve been over this. The guy is in a jam and there's no way I'm sending him to Rumlow."

"So instead you offer him your couch. Heart of fucking gold, you got Rogers. Too bad you've never replaced a head gasket before."

"Yeah well, that's why there's a bottle of bourbon sitting on the shelf inside."

"It'll need to be more than one if you're wanting my help, sonny."

"There'll be another one when we get the engine back in."

"You're a hard sell. Fine. I'm in. I just hope this guy is worth it."

Sam’s attention was pulled away by the landline ringing, and after answering it and asking the gentleman on the other end to hold, he poked his head out the door and called for Steve.

“Hey, Steve. There’s a Mr Pym on the phone? Sounds pretty urgent.”

“Oh! Thanks Sam.” Steve handed the tool he was holding to Dugan, wiped his palms on his jeans and squeezed past Sam to get inside. Sam nodded at the big man, who was wearing the same bowler hat as the last time Sam had seen him, but had foregone the hunting vest for a large knit sweater. Dugan tipped his bowler at Sam, folding his arms across his wide chest and propped a foot up against Sam’s car.

“How’s the Vic treating you?” He asked, tilting his head to the street where the big tan car was parked.

Sam “Yeah it’s going great. Thanks for letting me use it, man.”

“That’s alright, can’t really do much without a car.  And you know, if you decide you don’t want to go through with fixing this one,” he said, waving a finger at the partially disassembled Saturn, “I’d happily sell her to you.”

Sam scrunched his nose at the idea, but quickly schooled himself, lest the big man mistook his expression as dislike. It was damn good of the man to do him this favour.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a damn nice car, but uh, this one means more to me.”

Dugan just shrugged and said “Suit yourself.” and then Steve reappeared in the doorway.

“Hey sorry guys, Hank has just flooded his basement and Janet is freaking out about her family heirlooms. I’m gonna dash around the road with my dad’s pump to see if we can keep anything from being written off. Rain check?”

Dugan huffed a laugh. “Is she threatening to divorce him?”

“When isn’t she?”

“Alright, you go. I’ll come by in a couple days for that bourbon and get that pulley up for you if you duck the car back a few feet and get a crate to put the engine block on once we get it out. Nice meeting ya Sam.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Sam said and turned to Steve, “You need a hand or anything?”

“Oh! No, forget it. You enjoy your morning off and if I don’t see you before you start work then I’ll put a plate in the oven for you when you finish."  


  


Sam didn’t notice Steve until he was pushing his way to their table where he and Clint were awaiting the second set from _Starlord and the Guardians of the Galaxy_ to begin. Quill’s band, despite the obnoxious name and the costumes, had some potential and Sam had found himself grooving along to the self-proclaimed retro-rock-techno-fusion. He’d promised to attend after hearing Pete singing along to the radio on his breaks, and Sam was quite enjoying himself. Steve smiled in greeting and Sam pushed his stool closer to Clint to give Steve a space around the table.

“Hey, man.” Sam greeted him.

“Yo, Rogers! Good to see you made it! Was worried you couldn’t find your way home.” Clint teased and offered a fist, Steve meeting him with a fistbump and a smirk.

“No chance. No one wants to be stuck at the Stoop for too long.”

Clint flipped him the bird for insulting his hometown and Sam laughed at the two of them.

“Did you find everything you needed?” Sam asked and Steve responded with an emphatic nod.

“Yep, I’ll be able to start putting your car back together from here on out! You must be glad about that.”

“It’ll be nice to see it not in pieces on the ground, that’s for sure.” Sam bumped his shoulder against Steve’s, grinning.

On stage, Pete sauntered back out in his ankle length red leather jacket, followed by the rest of his band, and called into the microphone.

“Hey there all you Grayson groovers, we’ve still got more tunes to rock for you tonight, so give it up if you want to be rocked on into space!”

Sam and Clint had led the cheering all evening and here they continued the tradition, with Clint hollering “Robbie’s Milk Bar represent!”. Steve and Sam cracked up, Steve practically wheezing though the hand that was clamped over his mouth, and the Guardians of the Galaxy were well into the middle of their first verse when the three men regained their composure.

“Fuck you guys.” Steve swore, gasping for breath with a pained smile. “I’m getting a beer.”

The second half proved to be even more exuberant than the first had been, although, Sam did admit that could also have been influenced by how much alcohol they’d consumed to that point. When the band finally quit for the night, Sam had no desire to leave immediately, and Steve and Clint had made it their mission to find something to commemorate his being in town for almost three weeks.

“You realise we just saw a concert.” Sam protested, but Clint was accepting no excuse.

“That was to mark your second week here. Now we gotta think of something for _next_ week.”

“He’s right.” Steve asserted. “You’ve got to see more of Grayson than just the diner and the bar. When’s your next day free?”

“I got a day off on Wednesday I think.” Sam squinted into the distance, trying to recall his schedule through the haze of beer.

“Hey you could go roller skating!” Clint suggested, swinging his arms wide in proclamation, knocking his bottle from the table and Steve scrambled to grab some napkins from the next table over to mop up the mess.

“Aww, beer, no.”

“Alright, no more for you.” Steve said pointing directly in Clint’s line of vision.

“Man, I always wanted to rollerskate. Never learned though.” Sam said wistfully, peering into his bottle to discover there was nothing left.

“Your mom wouldn’t let you?” Clint sniggered and Sam huffed at him.

“Nah, we could either get bikes or skates and we chose bikes. But man, I thought I had my chance in 7th grade. We had a class trip planned to go to a roller rink, I was so pumped. But the damn rink got the dates mixed up and they’d just washed it down when we showed up. We had to go ten-pin bowling instead -”

Steve’s face perked up as he rejoined the conversation. “Oh hey, did you want to go bowling then? I was gonna ask y-"

“I fucking hate ten pin bowling.” Sam said, face darkened by missed childhood dreams.

Steve went pink, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I could teach you to skate! If you want?”

Sam looked Steve dead in the eye.

“Don’t you toy with me. I don’t want you running off to rescue a nearby cat or hot neighbour or something and leaving me stranded.”

Steve squared his jaw, and met the seriousness of Sam’s gaze. “You, me, rink, Wednesday, all day. Promise.”

They sat there for a moment as Sam quietly assessed the man before him. Fuck those eyes were a sea of blue you could get fucking lost in. Sam nodded, as much to shake the thought as to agree.

“It’s a date.” Oh fuck, why did he say that?

Steve’s eyes widened a fraction then filled with warmth as his whole face smiled.

“It’s a date.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns how to roller skate. It's not a date, he tells himself.

Was this really a date? Sam wasn’t sure which way Steve leaned and he’d been living with the man just a fraction too long to come right out and ask. Which then stuck him in the horrible situation he found himself in now, which was standing in the sitting area of a roller skating rink, staring at the unfairly perfect roundness of his good Samaritan’s God-like ass, stretched out and on royal display as Steve leaned over to tie up his skates.

His momma was wrong, there was no God on this earth, only the devil who put this man in front of him to tempt him with a view like this. Sam pried his eye away to look at the hired skates he was holding in his hands, but his brain wouldn’t co-operate and tell him what to do next. Steve straightened up and turned to where Sam was still staring dumbly at the bright yellow skates in his grasp.

“Hideous, I know. But they colour them by size. At least you’re not a half size bigger.” Steve offered, pointing his own feet forward, his skates a similar hideous yellow with the toes painted neon green. 

Once he’d got the lemon coloured atrocities strapped to his feet, Steve gently coaxed him onto the waiting rink. MId-week in a small town, Sam wasn’t sure how busy to expect the place to be, and rather hoped to be on the quiet side in case he made a fool of himself. But it appeared that they turned up early enough that it was quiet when they started, but throughout the day handfuls of others joined them on the rink, some stayed only briefly, others enjoying the arcade more than the rink itself.

Sam found that being a roller skating beginner as an adult was a little more daunting that his younger self had thought it would be, possibly because as an adult, when he inevitably fell over, it was a further way to fall and it was one of the only times he’d ever cursed being tall. But after a few near tumbles (saved only by clinging for dear life to the rink wall) Sam had a long hard talk with himself and got the fuck up onto his feet and tackled it like a grown man. There was a nack to balancing while in motion but he kept his knees bent and his chin up and after a while he started actually having fun. Steve of course was by his side the whole way and didn’t start teasing him until after he got him feet under him, graciously ignoring his beginners wobbles. 

One other couple was making the most of the quieter rink like they were, and once Sam had his feet under him Steve introduced him to Sharon and Maria, explaining they’d all been “rink kids” together in afterschool lessons, and still enjoyed it as much as adults. They told him they were just back from their honeymoon and had one last day before going back to work as Deputies in the local Sheriff Department.

Soon Sam was gliding around the rink with a reasonable amount of ease, and he felt like every new loop around he was getting into the groove more and more, encouraged along by the shouts of support from the ladies who also took the opportunity to rib Steve for his teaching skills.

“Great to see you’re still on your feet Sam! Looks like Steve’s not such a bad teacher after all!”

“Yeah, I’m just doing what he’s doing, only slower!” Sam called, looking away from where he’d been following Steve’s perfect ass to wave back. He then put on a burst of speed to catch up, only to find that Steve had turned back for him and they collided, crashing to the ground, sprawled out on the rink floor, a tangle of limbs, pride and horrendously coloured shoes. 

“Ok, please tell me no one saw that.” Sam groaned, trying to push an elbow to the ground and lever himself up, but under the weight of the other man, couldn’t get purchase and fell back to the floor.

The whirr of skates coming closer told him he was out of luck as Sharon and Maria skidded to a halt and bent over them. 

“Wow guys, are you alright?” Maria asked, offering a hand to Steve as he pulled his legs away from where they lay on top of Sam’s.

“Are you hurt?” Sharon knelt down, checking Sam’s head but he waved her off.

“Only my pride.” He assured her, taking her hand and sitting up, looking around for how close the rink wall was, planning to use it to hold onto to get to his feet. Finding it only a few feet away, he scooted his way over.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Sam.” Steve apologised, carefully getting up, reaching out to offer a hand to Sam.

“Nah man, it was me trying to show off. Ow.” Sam grabbed the top of the rink wall and with Sharon and Steve on each elbow, dragged himself to standing and shrugged sheepishly. “Not my finest moment.” 

“Want a break? They make a mean nacho dish here.” Steve offered an out that Sam happily took, nodding his approval. 

“You two will be alright now?” Maria chided,  “because you know there’s no ambulance in town. If we gotta cart you to the doctor, the only option is the hearse.”

Steve nodded, “We’ll be fine.” 

“Thank you deputies,” Sam nodded, “and uh, you won’t go telling anyone, will you?” 

Maria and Sharon exchanged a look and Sharon turned with a smile, “I didn’t see anything.”

Sam nodded his thanks again, and he and Steve quietly made their way back to the seating area and Sharon and Maria continued their spin around the rink. 

The nachos proved to be a surprisingly good balm for bruised pride, and even though the afternoon brought more people to the rink, Sam was ready and willing to give it another go. Their return to the rink was hindered somewhat as it seems that everyone who came in knew Steve and one of those small town rules Sam had observed was that if you knew someone (and you inevitably knew everyone), then you couldn't just cross paths without saying hello. And it was never just hello. 

But much to Sam’s delight, Steve stayed true to his word and stuck by Sam’s side, offering a polite wave or hello when someone greeted him, but not seeking anyone out and curtailing any potentially long conversations with a friendly but firm explanation that he was showing Sam around, and they eventually joined the other skaters and were racing each other up and down the rink for the rest of the afternoon. 

Come evening when they finally decided to pack it in, Sam was beaming. Aside from the collision that despite the ache in his butt, Sam was now pretending never happened, today had a pretty damn good one. Pulling on his shoes and lacing them, Sam was just about to ask if Steve felt like grabbing a beer when the girl from behind the counter called out to them.

“Steve? Steve! It’s Angie. She’s been calling around looking for you!”

Steve laughed. “Tell her I’ll be right over!’

Sam looked at him, frowning. “Dude, I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t, Angie is a job. Look, I know I promised I wouldn’t run off to save a cat or anything, but you’ll like this. C’mon.”

He’d had the whole day with Steve at the rink, so Sam figured that was a good run without being interrupted. 

 

But whatever Sam was expecting next, it wasn’t the cinema, or at least what passed for a cinema in a town as small as this. The stone building sat unobtrusively between the library and a bakery, both closed for the night, and there were hand written signs proclaiming the showtimes and a blackboard out on the footpath that served as an open sign. 

Steve hopped out, indicating Sam to do the same, and he could hear someone in the doorway where a small queue was forming call “Steve is here!” followed by a smattering of cheers. 

Sam couldn’t quite believe it. He didn’t think he’d ever had a group of people that wasn’t his family cheer when he arrived somewhere. And even then, Riley got more cheers from his family that time, because he’d just passed his firehouse training. Sam followed that saintly butt as it disappeared inside the small building, and watched as Steve climbed in behind the counter and started talking to a large silver box with faded red paint that although proclaiming  _ fresh popcorn!,  _ sat empty.

“Now what’s wrong with you today?” Steve murmured to the machine, pulling it away from the wall and peering into the back of it. 

Sam took a perch at the end of the counter by the ice-cream fridge, folding his arms across his body, watching Mr Fix-It Rogers in action. Sam couldn’t even tell you where the small screwdriver came from that was now miraculously in his hands, but it didn’t take long before Steve was straightening the machine up against the wall again, twirling his finger in a “ _ turn it on _ ” motion and Angie flicked the switch and the inside of the box lit up and gentle churning sounds emitted from it, and Steve and Angie grinned at each other. 

Steve mouthed “The belt slipped and caught again.” fitting the back panel back on and stepped to the side, bowing to the round of applause from the queue. A round of fucking applause. 

“Alright! You all know the drill, popcorn will take few minutes to heat up, but the movie won’t start until everyone has got their popcorn which might be about 20 minutes. Now, who’s up first?” Steve said to the crowd, arms wide, stepping up to the register. 

Sam watched as he served customer after customer, scribbling names onto popcorn buckets and lining them up as Angie filled them as fast as the little machine could go. The queue petered out within 10 minutes and everyone wandered off to find their seats, even though there was a line up of yet-to-be-filled  popcorn orders waiting. But turns out there was a method to it, Angie piled the buckets onto trays and as each one was filled, passed them over to Steve who, once the final customer had been served, disappeared down the corridor and then up the stairs with the next ready tray.

“There’s only one screen,” Steve explained during a pause from delivering snacks, “but there’s two lots of seating.”

“Which explains why you asked them ‘upstairs or downstairs’.” Sam clicked. 

“Makes finding them easier.”

“Here you go boys.” Angie said after the last of the trays had been delivered. She put two buckets of popcorn down next to them. “I presume you’re staying?” 

“You up for a movie?”

“What’s playing?”

“Blazing Saddles.”

“Really?” Sam laughed. “Fuck yes. I’m in.”

“Well grab a soda or an ice cream each. I gotta tell Jack to start the reel. Put your money away.” She waved at Sam who was opening his wallet. “I don’t charge repairmen.”

“What? But I didn’t fix anything.”

“You’re with Stevie. You’re covered.” she said simply and ducking around the corner.

“Dude, you’ve got the Midas fucking touch in this town. I wondered why someone would want to stay in a small town, and now I fucking know. Benefits.”

Angie reappeared in the corridor, “Trailers are just starting, better grab your seats boys.”

Steve laughed. “So, upstairs or downstairs?”

“Upstairs, definitely.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to pay him back, Sam cooks for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of small-town homophobia.

After the day spent roller skating and the impromptu night at the movies, things between Steve and Sam simply continued on as before, which only served to reinforce Sam’s opinion that it hadn’t been a proper date. Steve flicked between various jobs around town and tinkering on reconstructing the Saturn, and Sam’s routine consisted of juggling orders the diner, the occasional drink at the bar with the not-so-upwardly-mobile Clint and having his quiet time at Steve’s. Sam had taken a bit to get used to living in close quarters with someone, he was rather used to the freedom of walking around his apartment in his boxers when he wasn’t working, and restrained the urge to do so at Steve’s. Steve, however, didn’t seem to feel the need to change his own behaviour in that respect, and Sam still had not gotten used to the sight of Steve leaving the bathroom, body and hair damp, wearing just his briefs. Not even boxer briefs. Just tiny little briefs, cradling his perfect god-like ass and his not unsubstantial junk, that bobbed around lightly between his muscular thighs as he walked. Sam tried distracting himself in these moments by bringing up what he owed Steve, who was refusing every attempt Sam made to compensate him for the parts for the car and for the place to stay. 

As Steve wouldn’t take cash of any kind, Sam was trying another approach and after his early shift at the diner stopped by the market and loaded the backseat of the Crown Vic with groceries, and a menu on his mind. Getting back in the car, Sam frowned at the dashboard of the Vic. He really was only coming to and from the diner, so it was a while before he ran low on gas, but as sure as gravity, the needle was dipping lower and lower and Sam knew he had to do something today or be stuck on the side of the road again. 

Sam turned down the road and pulled into the courtyard, peeling grey paint declaring  _ Strike Crew Garage and Gas _ and Sam couldn’t tell if it was just the review Steve had given him or there was something about the place that just didn’t sit right with him. He stopped alongside one of the three silver pumps, got out and grabbed a pump nozzle. He rolled his eyes at the price, even for off the highway, that was definitely higher than usual, but like Steve had said, there wasn’t much he could do about that but pay it. As he stood holding the nozzle in the gas tank watching the meter tick over, he noticed a man in grimy overalls come his way. 

“Can I help you there?” the grimy man asked, wiping his hands on an even grimier cloth. 

“Just getting some gas.”

“Flick the hood, I’ll check your oil while your here.” Sam raised an eyebrow at how helpful the guy was being, and if it hadn’t been for Steve’s vehement warning about the place, the action could easily be seen as good intent. But Sam figured, once you get the hood up, it opens the chance to bluff that something’s wrong with the engine and he sure as hell wasn’t going to fall for that.

“No need, I checked that this morning.” He bluffed.

“Did it look ok?”

“Yeah it looked fine.”

The reedy looking guy didn’t seem to know what to say to that and just hovered as Sam turned his attention back to the pump. The meter stopped ticking and Sam replaced the nozzle and screwed the gas cap back on, moving to head inside.

“You sure you don’t need anything else looked at?”

Sam was getting really sick of this guy. “You got jerky inside?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s all I need. Thanks.” 

The guy frowned.

“You gonna move so I can get inside, or don’t you want me to pay for the gas?”

“Rollins.” A gruffer voice called, and prompted the grimy overall guy shuffled back into the garage bay giving Sam the opening to go up to the counter without worrying he might do something to the car while Sam’s back was turned. The guy who’d spoken was tall and broad, with his overalls tied around his waist revealing a black tank top and several dark tattoos. His face was unshaven and his smile was like the Cheshire cat, only sleazier. Sam could definitely see this guy being the type to either punch you or fuck you in the back alley of a bar at 1 am on a Tuesday. 

“Just the gas, friend?”

“Just the gas.” Sam confirmed, deciding to pass on the jar of jerky that sat on the counter. He wasn’t sure he wanted to eat anything that came from this place. 

“Hey, I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?”

“Have you?” Sam replied, really just wanting to get out of there. Seriously, if you take this long to pump, pay and leave in the city, you get yelled at by the guy in line behind you. Sometimes this small town way of life moved way too slow for Sam. And being forced to make small talk with the slimy gas attendant was one of those times. 

“You the new guy working at the diner.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Aint real friendly, are you?”

“Are you after work?” Sam retorted.

“I’m always friendly.” the guy said, smiling wide, finally holding out Sam’s card and receipt and Sam was distinctly reminded of a Nat Geo doco he’d once seen about sharks.

_ Man, shut the hell up.  _ Sam thought. 

“Mmm hmm.” He just said, turned and left, striding surely out the door and back to his car, breathing a sigh of relief that the greasy Rollins hadn’t reemerged. He pulled out of the lot, turned back the way he came and headed back to Steve’s, happily watching the needle on the gauge rise to full again. Hopefully, his own car would be fixed by the time he had to venture there again.

 

Back at the house, Sam grabbed the grocery bags off the back seat, shaking the encounter at the gas station from his mind and started plotting. Despite how hard Steve worked, Sam would find himself coming back to Steve’s cooking or leftovers, and tonight he wanted to cook for Steve. Inside, Sam sat down at his laptop, one of the few things he’d brought with him on his trip, and searched to find something he was sure was still in his emails from a year ago. 

By the time Steve had returned, the pie was already out of the oven and the pan was bubbling away and Sam was preparing to toast some rolls before setting the table. Steve stopped in the doorway to kick off his shoes and remove his jacket that was covered in dust and cobwebs, and poked his head around the corner. 

“Sam? What’s that smell?”

“Food.” Sam replied cheekily, watching the look of surprise melt into a grin as Steve took another deep breath. Sam had to admit, his cooking smelled damn good. 

“You didn’t have to cook.”

“Right. Instead I should just have put my feet up until you came home all dusty and tired and sat around while you defrost some leftovers.”

“That’s why they’re leftovers, Sam, for days when you can’t be bothered.”

“I finished early enough, and it was no bother at all. I haven’t cooked like this in a while, and it’s been nice.”

“I certainly smells it. Ahh, do I have enough time to shower before it’s all ready?”

“If you get your ass in there now, then yes. But don’t dawdle, this is best eaten hot.”

“On it.” Steve gave him a dusty two finger salute and turned, peeling off his sweat stained T-shirt as he went, greeting Sam with a glimpse of skin before disappearing down the hall. Sam heard the shower as it was turned on, and busied himself with setting out plates and cutlery, and  _ not  _ imagining Steve taking off the rest of his clothes and stepping under the water. He most definitely was  _ not  _ imagining what it might be like to follow him. 

Shower over, table laid and food dished out, Sam enjoyed the wide eyed look of appreciation and hunger that Steve gave, looking everything over. Sam gave him the go ahead to sit down and dig in and they both filled their plates to the brim of jambalaya, chicken fried steak and corn on the cob. One bite in, Steve whimpered and for a second Sam thought he had gone too hot on the jambalaya. 

“Sam, you have outdone yourself.” Steve said reverently, almost moaning and Sam shifted in his seat and stuffed a forkful of rice into his mouth, denying that Steve’s moan did things to him. As they ate Steve asked Sam where his recipes came from and Sam shared the family history behind how his great-grandmother’s jambalaya came to be. One helping later, they both reached to fill their plates a second time, and Sam took the opportunity to inquire about Steve’s day. 

“So what’s the job you’re doing that’s got you all dusty?”   
  
Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair.

“Bishops Farms bought a section of their neighbours farm that had a few old barns that haven’t been used in years, and I’m emptying them out and seeing how much of the structure is still sound enough to build onto. They have their own farm hands, but they’re all busy with the harvest right now, but if i had no other work, Danvers Snr would get me to join their harvest crew up until the festival. But I was up in the rafters of this barn today and I came across some really interesting equipment that’s obviously been stashed there and forgotten - old hand tools and tractor parts and drilling equipment from 50 years ago when they thought there might be oil in the valley…” Steve petered off, meeting Sam’s eye and scrunching up his nose. “I don’t know how interesting any of this is for you, I guess I’m still hyped by how excited Danvers was when I showed him.”

“Nah that’s cool man. Not my thing, admittedly, but cool nonetheless.”

“What about you? Any new stories from the diner?”

“Angie came in to ask me about my neighbourhood in the City, seems her boys have moved near to where I am and she wanted to know what I liked about the place. Oh, and I did have to get gas for the Vic. I see what you mean about those guys.”

Steve turned up his nose and poured himself some of Sam’s fresh made lemonade. “Did Brock try to sell you extra maintenance?”

Sam pointed his empty glass in Steve’s direction, and Steve filled it as well. 

“Is he the little greasy one, or the big greasy one with the shark smile?”

Steve choked on his mouthful, coughing to clear his throat, reaching for his napkin. “Brock’s the shark one.” he elaborated. 

Sam shook his head. “He didn’t get to sell me anything, but it damn near felt like he was hitting on me, or am I imagining that wrong?”

“Mmmm.” Steve hummed through his next mouthful of lemonade, swallowing before speaking. “Probably was. He uhh…” Steve paused, putting his glass down on the table. “A while back he and I…”

“Dated?” Sam finished, surprised. So god-butt actually does like men, huh? Good to finally have an answer.

“If you could call going to the drive in the next town over so that no one can see you and then not going to the movie but instead blowing each other in the parking lot, dating. He’s pretty aggressively closeted.” he said, rolling his eyes.

“That why it didn’t work?” Not that Sam could imagine any part of Steve and Brock working.

“Well, I then found out he was also a creep. So.” Steve left the rest of it unsaid and the two of them went back to eating in silence for a minute or two while Sam reigned in his imagination.

“Would that be a big thing, in a town like this?”

“What thing?”

“Being gay or otherwise not straight. There’s a lot about this place that embraces the old-fashioned, I was wondering if attitudes to dating here were like that too.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Yeah, they were. Certainly when I was growing up I don’t know that I could name anyone in town who wasn’t straight. Felt awkward walking around high school and realising I had a thing for my shop teacher that went beyond ‘I want to be like him when I’m older.’ When Tony and I started dating in 11th grade, we kept it pretty hush.”

“You and Tony huh? No wonder they talk about you so fondly.” 

“Yeah, we were each other’s first, I don’t mean like that, I mean in terms of non traditional partners… no, actually we were each other’s first that way too. Tony coming out was a big catalyst for the change in attitudes in town. They got disowned by their grandfather, but was welcomed in by Old Man Fury, and then suddenly there wasn’t just Tony out but me and Maria and Rhodey and a couple of others and eventually the town just had to accept us or lose us. And that’s when my mom stepped up and said family is family, and this town is a family, and if the others in this town could accept when one of their kids went to jail and give them a second  chance then there was no excuse for shunning us for who we loved.”

Sam sat in awe of the story Steve had just told, impressed as hell at the description of Mrs Rogers.

“Damn. Please tell me your momma stepped up and said that in the middle of church. I can just imagine it.”

Steve shook his head. “Town meeting. Tony’s dad was the Board President at the time, he ended up quitting on the spot when he saw the town wasn’t behind him. That was also the day Old Man Fury lambasted him for sending his own son away, Tonys dad, for daring to have a male lover.”

Sam whistled. “Oh the secrets.”

“Small towns are full of them.” Steve chuckled, eating the last bite on his fork and then dropping it onto his now empty plate. “That was great meal Sam, but I got one question. Where’s the pumpkin?”

Sam looked at Steve coolly, one stern eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You and your fucking pumpkins. This is what you do with a damn pumpkin - you make pie.”

Sam stormed up to the kitchen where the pie was hiding in the fridge to cool, grabbing a fresh knife from the drawer and placing the pie-tin in an empty spot on the table and presented the knife handle first to Steve. Steve took the knife, cut himself and slice and carefully lifted it onto his plate. Twirling his fork mischievously under Sam’s unamused eye, Steve eventually pulled away a forkful of the soft orange dessert and took a bite. Sam crossed his arms, waiting for a response and Steve’s expression changed suddenly from one of mischief to sincerity. 

“Ok, this is really, pretty damn good. You should think about entering that in the festival.”

“You guys seriously celebrate pumpkins?”

Steve shrugged enigmatically, taking another scoop of pie. “You’ll see next week.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The town prepares for the Festival and Sam gets the chance to rescue Steve.

The town seemed to bloom over a period of only a few days from the sleepy small town you might forget if you drove straight through, to a garland laden, orange accented, pumpkin promoting dreamscape. Or nightmare, depending on your opinion on squashes. Sam hadn’t realised, even with all the talk, just how much this Pumpkin or Harvest or whatever it was called Festival would take over the town. Somewhere in his mind he was expecting something akin to a school fair - a few stalls selling homemade lemonade, pony rides (or whatever a country town would have), face painting, and that weird game where you threw ping pong balls into cups of water and somehow always managed to take home a goldfish (although in this case Sam would expect a pet squash or something equally ridiculous), and it would all be over by the end of the day. But no. Apparently a Pumpkin/Harvest Festival in Grayson means damn near every shop front gets its orange on, and there are more ornamental (not for eating, just  _ ornamental _ ) pumpkins littering the sidewalks than you can shake a stick at. 

And then there were the townsfolk who had stopped asking him when he moved to town, and were now asking him if he was making a basket? Sam didn’t know what that was all about, and really didn’t like the level in curiosity this new thing stirred in the locals. When he got the chance to take a break, he asked the only person in the place he trusted not to create some kind of ulterior motive. 

“Hey, Rhodes, man. Can you tell me the deal with the basket thing?”

“What?”

“People keep asking me if I’m gonna be making up a basket for the festival?”

Rhodey glanced over his shoulder and then motioned him closer. “You may not want to be saying that too loud, if you don’t want to get roped into the auction.”

“Did you just say auction?”

Rhodey nodded. “Old Mrs Lewis, who’s the secretary on the Town Board, has been reading those sappy Mills & Boon books for years, you know those?”

“My momma loves them.”

“So does Tony. Years back, Mrs Lewis reads in one of her books about a picnic basket auction, where all the men in town each make up a picnic lunch, which is then auctioned off, and the lucky winner gets to enjoy their lunch with the man who made it.”

Realisation dawns on Sam. “Please tell me I’m not gonna have to do that.”

“You’ve gotta be nominated first - that’s what stops it from getting too big. We could always see if there’s some loophole because you’re an out-of-towner, but in the meantime just tell people you might not be here that long. Should stop talk for the time being.”

“Do you have to do it?”

“Tony wouldn’t let me not do it. The Auction has become a bigger deal than the Pageant.”

“There’s a fucking _ pageant _ ?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, you don’t qualify for that one.”

Sam side-eyed Rhodey, “Thanks man. I think. Hey, does Steve have to do it? The auction, I mean.”

“He couldn’t get out of it if he tried.”

 

Steve didn’t often drop by the diner when Sam was working unless he was actually in for a meal, an occurrence he admitted he used to do more often, but felt bad asking Sam to wait on him if he was working, and didn’t seem right to eat there when Sam wasn’t. This time he dropped by between jobs to simply ask a favour. 

“I was meaning to get to the store but Mrs Lewis is asking for help, so I haven’t organised anything for dinner, do you think you could bring back a couple meals from here when you finish?” Steve leant against the counter to take a breath, he’d been racing around town for several days, apparently the go-to man for problem solving for the festival. 

“Hell yeah, no problem. Mrs Lewis is sure demanding.” Sam sympathised, and Steve thanked him before heading back out the door. Clint chuckled from his regular booth and waved Sam over. 

“I saw Darcy over at the ice cream store this morning. Might have something to do with it.” 

Nat flicked her apron at him as she sat down for her break. “What were you doing at the ice cream store? Are you cheating on the diner?” 

“We don’t make milkshakes here.” Clint whimpered defensively, pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek to which she rolled her eyes and relented. 

“Hey, why don’t we make milkshakes here anymore? It is called a milk bar.” Tony joined them, sliding into the seat opposite and batting their eyes slyly, grinning when Nat just stared them down growling, “You know why.”

“Who’s Darcy?” Sam asked, flicking his eyes around the diner to check on the couple at the other end, but they seemed happy and he’d swing by them in a minute to make sure. 

“Mrs Lewis’s granddaughter. She’s just finished college and come back from a year teaching English in Indonesia.” Nat explained, stealing fries off Clint’s plate. Clint yelped in protest but Nat just silenced him with a kiss and grinned as she stole another handful. 

Recognition dawned on Sam and he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “And she wants to set Steve up! I knew that old bat was flirting with him!” 

“He’d better watch out, or Mrs Lewis might just try rigging the auction in her favour.” Nat warned, pulling Clint’s arm so it wrapped around her shoulders and she rested closer to him. 

“Oh I dunno, the auction is pretty damn precious to her.” Tony countered, taking the advantage offered them and snuck a few of Clint’s fries as well. 

“Aww, no.”

“Yeah, but when it comes to Darcy?” Nat pointed at them, then snatched the last fry from the plate before Tony could. 

“You’re right, Steve’s in trouble.” Tony nodded, looking down at the empty basket and turning to Sam, “Can we get some more fries?”

 

 

Sam got back to the house and set out the two takeout boxes he’d brought back from the diner, and called out for Steve. After no reply and a quick scout around Sam had to conclude that although his truck was on the street it seemed Steve wasn’t yet back from Mrs Lewis’s grasp, and he chuckled again at the thought of Steve trapped by a little old woman. Maybe he should go over there and rescue the poor guy. Sam looked down at the food he had on the kitchen counter and thought fuck it, that’s exactly what he was going to do. This is a small town right? It’s totally normal to show up unannounced and besides she was only a couple of houses up, according to what Sam remembered Steve say. Couldn’t be too hard to find. He pulled on his jacket and closed the door behind him. 

It wasn’t the first house he went to, nor the second, but the older gentleman there pointed him to the lavender coloured villa across the street from them, and Sam wished Mr Philips and his beagle called Colonel a good evening and thanks for the info. Stepping up to the porch Sam could make out voices inside, a mixture of busy chattering of woman and the faint low notes Sam could recognise as Steve. Sam thought for a second and then knocked loudly, grinning at the “Oh! Who could that be!” that reminded him of his own mother, then straightened his face as the door opened and a short lady with white curls greeted him. Sam could see in the room behind her where Steve sat awkwardly next to a young woman with dark hair and a big voice who Sam assumed was the granddaughter. 

“Hello young man, how may I help you?”

“Yes, are you Mrs Lewis?”

“Why yes, I am.”

“My name is Sam Wilson, and I hate to bother you but I’m looking for a man named Steve Rogers.”

“He’s here, he’s just helping me with my -”

“Sam?” By this time Steve had heard them and had stood up and was leaning his head around the doorway. He met Sam’s eyes and Sam looked back seriously.

“Steve, it’s an emergency.”

Steve closed his mouth and swallowed, straightening with determination. “I’ll be right there.”

He turned to the two ladies and offered his emphatic and hastened apologies and Sam mentally wished he’d hurry before he couldn’t hold his grim expression any more. Stepping out the door Steve asked “What is it?” and Sam flicked his eyes back and sure enough, the Lewis ladies were just inside the door, clearly hovering within earshot. Sam just said “best if I tell you back a the house.” and Steve followed his eyes and nodded. They made a quick pace across the empty street and jumped the step until they were inside the door and Steve turned to Sam, repeating his inquiry. 

“What’s the emergency?”

Sam looked him square in the eye and with what little composure he had left said, “Your dinner's getting cold.”

Steve frowned, startled, and Sam, unable to hold back his grin much longer, laughed. “Nat and the guys told me about Mrs Lewis’s granddaughter. I thought you could do with an assist.”

Steve blinked, then raised his arms and enveloped Sam in a sudden hug. “Thank you for that. Also, fuck you for that, “ he added, pulling away. “I swear I thought you were going to tell me someone had robbed the place or that Clint had broken his other leg or something serious.” 

“Hey! Cold food  _ is _ serious. Now go wash up.”

They chose the lazy way of eating out of the takeaway containers and relaxed on the couch in front of the TV. But the sitcom was soon forgotten as Sam grilled Steve for details on the auction/Mrs Lewis debacle. 

“Yeah but is the granddaughter cool?” Sam asked. “You could survive one picnic lunch surely.” 

Steve snorted in response. “Hah. Trust me, it’s not just one lunch.” he said turning to face Sam, his arm leaning across the back of the couch. 

“Two years ago Mrs Carter-Hogan bid on me on behalf of her daughter Sharon who didn’t attend the auction. We met her at the rink, remember? While at lunch Sharon tells me she’s really dating Maria, so we part as friends. But then, every time I saw her mother in town I’d be invited to dinner and met with proclamations of how much Sharon wanted to see me, which she didn’t, and so it came to the point where Sharon had to sit down with her mother and explain we weren’t ever dating, and now, ugh, even now when Sharon and Maria are happily married, Sharon’s mom looks at me like she can never forgive me for breaking her little girl’s heart.” Steve shook his head in disgust and Sam held back a laugh at Steve’s pained expression. Steve looked up at him and mouthed  _ “that’s not all”,  _ pushing his empty takeout container across the coffee table with a huff before continuing. 

“What makes matters worse is that two years ago, when Sharon’s mom won my lunch, she’d outbid Mrs Lewis, who had never forgotten this - prompting Mrs Lewis to then institute the rule that the winning bidder must be the one to attend the date after that. Last year Darcy was in Indonesia, and I was so hoping she wouldn’t be back before the Festival this year, or at least that Mrs Lewis might have cooled her jets…”

“But old Mrs Lewis is still running hot with the idea of you dating her girl.” Sam finished with glee, grinning uncontrollably. He could see that the whole situation was a bit of a bugbear for the guy, but honestly, if your biggest worries were too many people wanting to date you, Sam couldn’t exactly feel sorry. 

“Unfortunately yes.”

“Oh man, do you think Nat will give me that morning off? I would love to see that go down.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Laugh it up Wilson and I’ll nominate you for a basket slot. I have friends on the board that could make it happen.”

“Only if you’re the one bidding on me.” Sam snarked, instantly regretting it as Steve froze next to him. He looked away and reached for his beer to not let Steve see the panic that might be in his face and hoping Steve would drop it, but instead he had another idea.

“Hold the phone… Sam. SAM. What if  _ you _ bid on me?”

Sam nearly swallowed his tongue alongside his mouthful of beer. “Come again?” 

Steve leaned forward and clasped Sam’s shoulders in his strong hands, staring Sam in the face.

“Bid on me, Sam. Win me, take me to lunch and you won’t owe anything for the car.”

_ Fuck me gently _ , Sam thought. Steve had reached for his weak spot and tugged hard and Sam was loathe to say no to the puppy dog blues staring across at him so earnestly. Sam swallowed a couple of times before he founds the words to speak. 

“Ok, ok, I’ll talk to Nat. Maybe she will take pity on you and let me dash away from the diner long enough to get a bid in.”

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the Picnic Basket Auction, and Steve is a hot favourite.

Sam was rostered on for the majority of the Festival, but Nat promised him that she wouldn’t miss the Auction either and as Rhodes turned out to be the town board president and was obligated to attend (and as he had pointed out to Sam, to be a basket lot too), the diner was scheduled to close temporarily and reopen once the Auction had concluded, as they still had to serve anyone who hadn’t won themselves a lunch. Sam had spoken to Steve and they had agreed that if Sam did indeed win Steve’s basket, that they would have their “lunch date” later because it would allow Sam to help at the diner for the afternoon. 

A crowd had gathered in the morning, and Sam followed Nat after she locked the doors to the diner, she assured him that Clint had arrived early to snag them decent seats for the action. The table on the stage of the rotunda boasted a couple dozen baskets and boxes is varying sizes and a few bouquets of flowers and gourds for decoration. The whole square was adorned festively, and the weather proved promising for the outdoor event. Nat ushered him through the aisles of chairs and people to where Clint had stretched himself out over the paved edge of the raised flower garden, claiming the spot for them, and looked like a more appealing option than the plastic seating available. Sam took off and folded his jacket to sit on once Nat had claimed the spot between him and Clint. On his other side Sam found himself sitting down next to an older black woman who eyed him decidedly before leaning over and tapping him on the arm. 

“And what basket is yours?”

“I’m from out of town, so I wasn’t umm, nominated.” Sam stammered, hoping he sounded convincing. The lady sighed, frowning slightly. 

“Hmm. I’ll just have to talk to James about that, and then you can come back next year so I can bid on you.”

“Hello there Mrs. Rhodes.” Natasha leaned across Sam to greet her as Sam reeled, impressed by the woman’s no-nonsense determination.

“Hello Natasha dear! Why didn’t you get this young man on the billet? I know he’s been working at your place. You could have put in a nomination.”

“I have selfish reasons Mrs Rhodes, I need Sam to work the diner today. But I do think we should get him back next year, what do you think of that Sam?” Natasha turned her extra polite and just a little too sly smile towards him with a decidedly conniving glint in her eye. 

“No comment.”

“C’mon, Steve would love to see you back.”

Sam was saved from responding by the arrival of the MC, a sharply dressed woman who Natasha whispered to Sam was the town board VP and High School Principal, Carol Danvers. 

“Welcome everyone, friends, family, neighbours, and all our guests today. It has been a proud tradition for over 10 years now to offer the Picnic Basket Auction as part of our Harvest festivities. This year all auction proceeds will go towards building a covered pool for our high school. And if everybody is ready, our first basket up for bid is that of the Grayson High School diving team captain, Peter Parker! Please come up to the podium Peter and tell us what’s in your basket today.”

A slender and spry teen bounded up to the stage, waving to the crowd, tripping over the display and stumbling into the podium stand. “Sorry Principal Danvers!” he exclaimed, a little too close to the microphone. She reassured him and they both steadied the table and rescued the gourd that had been knocked from the display, then he was directed to the microphone stand.   


“Hi everybody, my name is Peter Parker and I want to say thanks! Both the swim team and the diving team are super excited to receive the support of the town and are happy to help in any way we can to make sure the festival goes well, and umm, oh yeah! My basket! Ok, So my lunch, I mean, not just my lunch, but OUR lunch includes pastrami subs, one with gherkins and one without in case that’s not your thing. Churros, a couple of cans of soda and some fruit cake that my Aunt May made. So, that’s it, yeah.” He laughs at the end, adding “Somebody please bid on me.” causing the crowd to laugh with him. 

Mrs Danvers took the microphone again and raised her hands wide, announcing “And let the bidding begin.”

Most of the chatter in the audience was focussed towards the front of the stage, where Sam could make out a crowd of teenagers, presumably the kid’s friends and classmates. One voice called out, “I gotta dollar.”

“Oh come on! I’m worth more than a dollar! Right?” 

Sam could see the main discussion was between a dark haired girl with her arms crossed and a heavy set tanned boy, who was pleading with her.

“MJ why don’t you bid on Peter?”

“Because I don’t believe in a social construct that allows the buying and selling of human beings. Besides I eat lunch with him everyday at school for free.” She said stubbornly, causing the boy to plead to the girl next to her.

“Liz? What about you?”

“Fine, 5 dollars.”

“We have a bid for 5 dollars. Are there any more?”

“”I’m great company!” Peter called out to the crowd, eagerly trying to drum up some interest. “I listen really well, and I’m told I’m kinda cute and I can teach you how to do a sweet backflip, see -”

“Peter please don’t -” Carol Danvers stepped in to dissuade the kid from somersaulting on stage.

“Ten dollars?"

“Ned did you just bid on Parker?” another voice from their group called out.

“I bid twenty dollars.” A calm and smooth adult voice called from another part of the crowd, surprising Sam and he leaned to ask Nat for clarification when Parker gave cringing smile.

“Oh, Aunt May… please guys, don’t let me be the guy who had to be bailed out by his aunt.” 

Sam felt for the kid, but had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. From the corner of his eye he could see an equal level of restraint being employed by Clint who was near crying, and between them Nat sat smiling. At the front of the crowd, Ned was obviously digging through his wallet.

“Uh, I got $21? But please don’t outbid me May, ‘cos I can’t go any higher right now.”

May Parker mouthed “ok” and looked up at the MC, shaking her head. Danvers announced, “And the winning bid is $21. Congratulations. I will remind all participants that Auction rules dictate that the lunch cannot be transferred and must be shared by the basket maker and winning bidder, and bids are to be paid to the treasurer Mr Hogan or Mr Rogers by the time the final basket is sold. Thank you.” and the crowd erupted in applause and laughter. Sam looked around and saw Steve speaking to a man at a table bearing the sign  _ Treasurer _ .

On stage, Parker shrugged “Looks like it’s you and me, Ned.” and jumped offstage, leaping back on when reminded to take his basket with him. 

“Next basket, the representative from our High School swim team, Miles Morales.”

“Is every bidding session like this?” Sam asked Nat and she nodded “What I’ve seen since being here, yes.” and Sam was reminded that Nat hadn’t grown up here like everyone else so he repeated his question to Mrs Rhodes. 

“Oh yes. That Carol Danvers knows what she’s doing. It used to be that it would take a while to get people bidding so the early baskets would go rather quietly. But since she took on the MC job, she’s always puts someone interesting up first. A little chaos up front to warm everybody up, so to speak. It’ll roll from here on, mark my words.”

And it went very much as she had predicted. Each gentleman would announce what was in their basket and they would be quickly followed by bidders. Natasha and Mrs Rhodes explained to Sam who each of them were. Sam could already name a few - Peter Quill, obviously, who tried serenading his girlfriend from on stage, Tim Dugan, the big man with an even bigger mustache who was helping Steve with his car and apparently ran the Bowling Alley, who was bid on by a woman with  big curly hair and an even bigger smile, and Brock Rumlow from the gas station with the bad rep whose basket didn’t reach very high but was eventually won by someone wearing a lot of leopard print and leather. He even recognised Chester Phillips, the old man with the beagle from up the street, whose basket was bid on by Mrs Rhodes herself.

“If I can’t bid on you, then I have to get a lunch companion somewhere.” She remarked, and Sam suppressed a smile at the expression on Mr Phillips’ face when Mrs Rhodes waved her gloved hand at him once the bid was finalised. 

Some baskets went quickly, often when it was the wife or girlfriend bidding without much competition. Or in Rhodey’s case when as soon as he was introduced Tony cried “One hundred dollars! Sold! Next basket!” before they even got to hear what was packed in his lunch. 

“Bless them.” Mrs Rhodes chuckled, shaking her head. 

“Typical Tony.” Clint laughed, but was stopped when Nat reminded him that his own basket had to be up shortly and he’d better start hobbling his way to the stage. Sure enough the next basket announced was “Clinton Bartholomew Barton.” and he cursed, scrambling up his crutches and pushing his way through the crowd to the stage. 

“Is that really his full name?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. I could be, or it could be Tony messing with his nomination.”

“You don’t know the name of the man you love?”

Nat turned and stared him down. “His name could be Ambrose Lucifer Guacamole for all I care, it wouldn’t stop me from loving him. But don’t you dare tell him that.”

“F- uh fricking softie.” Sam censored himself, glancing towards Mrs Rhodes, who had her focus on Rhodey and Tony who had come to sit the other side of her on what was left of the garden bed edging. By this time Clint had finally made his way up to the stage, but refused to try and get onto it, instead opting to lean and waves over to them.

“I got what you like in my basket Natasha! And I don’t mean that as suggestive as it sounds. Or maybe I do…”

Nat stood up and cupped her hands and yelled  “Who says I’m gonna bid on you?” stopping Clint’s grin dead in it’s tracks and making a few people laugh.

“Opening bids?” Carol called, and Clint put his hands on his hips in a  _ “Well?”  _ gesture, to which Natasha made the show of crossing her arms slowly, staring at him all the while. Sam watched them stare each other down for a moment before deciding to have himself some fun. What the hell, he thought. He got to his feet, Nat adjusting her stance to give him room and watch him from the corner of her eye and he held up a coin in his fingers.

“A quarter!”

Clint was the first to break his stance. “What? Wilson!” 

Tony said something to Rhodey, who gave them something from his pocket, then they stood up and offered two coins in the air. 

“Fifty cents for the circus act!”

“I was a carnie, dammit, and that wouldn’t even get your entrance fee!” Clint called back. 

Meeting Tony’s eye, Sam smiled and they winked at each other. It was on. 

“Seventy five cents?” Sam offered up.

“Eighty.” Tony countered.

“Hang on, hang on,  I know I got a dime here somewhere,” Sam made a show of digging into his pockets, pulling some change out and slowly counted, “nah it’s just a nickel. Eighty-five cents. It’s all I got man.” 

“Eighty-eight!” Tony followed quickly and at the front of the stage Clint choked and gaped, scrambling a hand free from his crutches to run it through his messy hair. Everyone present seemed to be split between trying to watch Sam and Tony’s mock bidding, and watch Clint’s reaction to each new bid. 

“Natasha! I thought you loved me? How can you let me go to  _ Tony _ ?”

Natasha sighed, unfolding her arms and pulling out her wallet. “What was the bid again?”

“Bid is currently eighty-eight cents to Tony Stark.” Carol supplied, and Sam had the sneaky suspicion that she was enjoying this as much as they were. 

“Fine, eighty-nine…”

“ _ Natasha!” _

“.. dollars.” she finished with a smile. 

“Sold!” announced Carol over the exasperated sigh of relief coming from Clint, who had dramatically slumped to the ground, spilling open his basket as he went to reveal a picnic cloth and a piece of paper saying IOU.

“Aww, basket no.”

While the crowd erupted into laughter and someone got from their seat to help Clint up from the ground, Nat turned to Sam as she sat down, “I figured I owed him. Last year I let him go to Tony for $4 and he sulked for a week.”

From his vantage point Sam could finally see Steve, who was stationed at the far end of the stage with a table and a cashbox. Steve was watching him with an amused expression and offered a little wave, and it didn’t escape Sam’s notice that one or two ladies heads turned to see who Steve was waving at. 

Next up was Phil Coulson, the young man Sam remembered seeing his first time at the diner, whose family had something to do with running the hotel. He wasn’t paying too close attention to who was bidding, just enjoying the atmosphere until he heard Nat mutter next to him. 

“Oh damn.”

“What?”

She pointed through the crowd to the young woman who had made the most recent bid. Sam recognised the older woman seated next to her before he recognised the bidder herself.

“Is that-”

“Darcy Lewis.”

“Oh my, Mrs Lewis looks ready to shimmy out of seat, she’s so mad.” Mrs Rhodes’ interjection making Sam bark out a laugh. They happened to be just close enough to hear Darcy say to her grandmother, “But he’s a nice looking boy who deserves to go for more.” then upped her previous bid without any competition. Mrs Rhodes was right, Mrs Lewis looked wound up tighter than a spring, fighting to keep herself composed when Carol Danvers announced that Darcy had won the bid. 

“Well that was interesting.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Congratulations. As we near the end of our auction with only a couple of baskets left I remind all winning bidders to make their payments to the treasurer’s table. And speaking of the treasurer’s table, would you please release your volunteer? Everybody, our next basket was made by a gentleman who’s very good with his hands. Come up the the stage Mr Steven Rogers.”

Both Sam and Nat snorted as the rest of the audience tittered, clapped as Steve appeared. 

“Here we go.” Nat nudged him, the same thought entering Sam’s mind. 

Steve strode across stage and reached out to shake Ms Danvers hand, and she turned just in such a way that meant his back was mostly to the audience as their hands met. Ms Danvers definitely knows how to sell this, Sam thought. Steve’s crisp blue shirt was neatly tucked into his best black jeans, the muscle hugging denim working it’s hardest to contain the glorious curve of his ass and thighs. A wolf whistle and another round of applause made Sam glance around, noting how much of the audience was also enjoying the view of Steve’s god-like ass in his best damn pants, and he thought for the first time that it might be more than just the Lewis ladies that he may have to contend with if he wants to win the date with Steve.

“Hello Grayson, it’s great to see you all here. In my picnic basket for lunch I’ve got some good old roast chicken sandwiches with homemade coleslaw and some of last season’s special chutney. There’s a couple of bottle of beer to drink, a choice between pumpkin or apple pie for dessert and even a couple of other goodies that will just have to be a surprise for my lunch-date.”

“Sounds like a great picnic Steve, I wish I could bid on it myself. Tell me, did you make the pies yourself or did someone help you?”

“I made it all myself Carol, like my mom taught me. I just hope someone out there will enjoy it with me.”

Steve glanced across the crowd as he talked until his eyes found were Sam was sitting, and he smiled out at him from the stage. He was laying it on thick, and from what Sam could see, the audience was eating it up. Sam could not believe that Steve, who would go all “aww, shucks” every time someone brought up how selfless he was, was the same Steve that he was seeing pimping himself and a picnic lunch, with the help of Ms Danvers and a very eager crowd. 

“What brought on the salesman act?” Sam asked Nat, who shrugged.

“You’ve met Steve, he’d let himself to be talked into doing anything for a good cause. Even if it means making a fool of himself.”

“Let’s see if anyone is interested. Do we have an opening bid?” Danvers teased and with that, the floodgates were opened. Sam had barely the time to consider what his first bid might be when the bids came flying in. 

“Twenty dollars!”

“Twenty-five!”

“Forty dollars!”

“Fifty!”

“Holy shit.” he muttered, shooting an apologetic look to Mrs Rhodes next to him. 

“It’s alright, that boy Rogers has always been a town sweetheart. There’s always a lot of interest in him.”

Nat leaned across Sam to speak to Mrs Rhodes directly, “Sam is here to bid on him as well.”

“Well you’d better get on in there if you want a chance!”

Sam couldn’t quite believe this was his life right now. It was almost like being home at his momma’s among all of his cousins and kids. He looked back up at the stage where Steve putting on a smile but looked a little concerned, and he listened to the back and forth between the audience and considered his upper limit. He was just about to call out “Ninety-five.” when Mrs Lewis beat him to “One hundred.”.

“Hang on is she bidding for herself or for Darcy?” Sam asked Nat who shrugged and eyed him curiously.

“Are you planning on swooping in at the last minute?”

“It worked for you.” He replied, shrugging back as the bid crept over one hundred and twenty dollars. 

“Are you going to put that good boy out of his misery?” Mrs Rhodes asked him. He’d considered waiting a bit longer but Steve was looking like he was starting to fight the urge to flee.

“Alright, wish me luck,” he said, giving Mrs Rhodes a quick peck on the cheek, then sat up straight and hollered “ TWO HUNDRED.” cutting Mrs Lewis’s next bid off. A number of faces in the crowd turned to see who the new, and male, bidder was but Sam just kept looking at Steve, who seemed relieved Sam had finally stepped into the game. Mrs Lewis sent him a frown, placing her hands in her lap like she was done, but not everyone felt the same. One of the women Sam couldn’t see in the crowd who’d started the bidding called after a beat, “Two hundred and twenty.”

“THREE HUNDRED.” Sam said immediately, loud and calm. This caused more titters throughout the crowd.

“Wow, Sam. You like to go all out huh?”

“Dude is fixing my car. Might as well return the favour properly.”

“Current bid is three hundred to the gentleman in the middle. Do we have any more?” Ms Danvers allowed a pause for effect, and Sam could now see the other bidder, who was conferring with another lady. Maybe they were going to combine their bids? He wondered, when one of the looked his way and offered up tentatively, as if she knew what the response would be.

“Three hundred and one.”

“Sir? It’s your bid.” Ms Danvers singled him out.

“Four hundred.” he said nice and clearly. The other women shook their heads and Ms Danvers smiled broadly while next to her, Steve was going a rather adorable shade of pink and was fidgeting like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“Sold!” 

Nat clapped Sam on the shoulder, and there was a fair mix of begrudgingly polite clapping from disappointed faces amid the general cheer as Steve stepped off the stage with his basket and Carol stood centre stage again, patiently waiting as the clapping died down. 

“Alright ladies and gentlemen and others, this morning has been quite a ride! But we have one last picnic basket to auction so would Tony Stark come up on stage please.”

A couple of seats to Sam’s left, Tony stopped mid-clap, hands frozen in the air and a frown creasing their perfect eyebrows. Next to them, Rhodey sat, calm and unassuming as ever, idly brushing some dust from the knee of his pants.

“Rhodey, what’s going on?”

“You were nominated.”

“You didn’t tell me that! Who made the basket?”

“I made one for you.”

“Don’t keep us waiting!” Mrs Rhodes encouraged them, as Ms Danvers repeated the request to come up to the stage. Tony, still looking confused, gathered up the frills on their 50s style rockabilly skirt and made their way up to the stage, where Carol handed them the last, smaller blue basket. 

“Sorry folks! I didn’t realise I’d been nominated! I have no idea what’s in this, so it’ll be a surprise for the both of us.” they rambled.

“Open it, dearie!” Mrs Rhodes called out, and Tony flicked open the flap, pulling out a bottle.

“Champagne!” Tony exclaimed, and opened their mouth to say more but seemed stunned into silence. Ms Danvers took the bottle and basket from Tony, asking the crowd,

“Do we have an opening bid?”

“Damn, I’ll share that with you! Twenty bucks!” Clint called out, receiving a pinch on the arm from Natasha and a counter bid from someone else. The promise of champagne elicited a few more bids from the audience before Tony found their voice again. 

“Rhodey, darling, you’re not going to make me share this with someone else, are you?”

Rhodey had finished brushing off his sleeve, and shook his head slowly. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“Well then bid!”

Rhodey leaned over to kiss his mother, stood up straightening the tidy waistcoat he was wearing and calmly walked towards the stage, his movement quietening all other bids as everyone waiting to see what he would do. He got to the front of the crowd and Ms Danvers asked into the microphone,

“What is your bid Mr Rhodes?”

“One engagement ring.”

There was a collective gasp and even for Sam, a man who had long thought romance had died, felt like time slowed down as he watched Rhodes pull out a ring box from his jacket and hold it open.

“SOLD!” Tony flailed, tears streaming down their face and they lept off the stage and directly into Rhodey’s arms, kissing him fully. A cheer and round of applause erupted from the audience as everyone got to their feet to congratulate the happy couple. 

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Sam asked Mrs Rhodes, who was dabbing her eye with a handkerchief.

“Yes, my James came to me a few weeks ago. I don’t think I’ve seen him happier than when he’s with Tony, I just wish I knew how to refer to them now.”

“Your they-in-law? Them-in-law?” Sam offered.

“Them-in-law! Oh I’m going to need to keep you on.”

“And that concludes our Picnic Basket Auction for this year. Would bidders please complete their payments at the front of the stage, and we look forward to seeing everybody tomorrow for the Miss Harvest Pageant and the following night for the Harvest Dance!”

“Well,” Mrs Rhodes said, folding her handkerchief and tucking it into her purse.  “I hope you have a wonderful time on your lunch date with Steven, and I expect to see you up there next year so I can enjoy your company again!” 

Sam chuckled. “It’s been a pleasure, Mrs Rhodes. You take it easy on Mr Phillips!”

“Oh yes, I’d better go pay for my lunch, shouldn't I?”

“I need to as well.” Sam agreed, standing and offering an arm to the older woman. She laced her delicate arm through his and leaned on him as she gently got to her feet. 

With the crowd dissipating in various directions, it took Sam, Nat and Mrs Rhodes a minute to weave their way to the Treasurer’s table where Steve was waiting with the cashbox and his picnic basket. After paying for Clint’s basket, Nat tapped Sam on the arm as she headed away.

“I’m going to open up the diner, don’t be too long.”

“I’ll be right behind you.” he assured her. 

He counted out his money and handed the bills over, unable to stop himself from smiling when his fingers brushed Steve’s. 

“You didn’t have to go that high.” Steve said quietly. Sam shrugged.

“It’s a good cause. Did I tell you I was in my school swim team?”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

They laughed and Sam pointed after the way Nat has left. 

“I gotta get going.”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up after your shift.”

Sam turned to head away but was stopped by a tutting from behind him. He turned, thinking it was Mrs Rhodes, but instead was Mrs Lewis, clutching her gloves and staring at him with  the most disapproving face. 

“You outbid everyone and you’re not even going to have your lunch? Shame! There are plenty of ladies here who would happily share Mr Rogers’s basket with him if you wont.”

From the Treasurer’s table Steve cleared his throat and leveled a friendly but firm look her way. 

“The rules say a picnic lunch cannot be transferred to another person and must be shared between the winning bidder and the basket maker. What the rules don’t dictate is exactly when the picnic lunch must be shared. Sam and I will be having our picnic once he has finished his shift at the diner.”

Mrs Lewis struggled to keep her composure at being softly reprimanded by the target of her scheming, muttering only a simple “Hmmm.” before turning on her heel and walking away. Sam and Steve shared a look of mirth before Steve waved him away and Sam made a dash across the square in the direction of the diner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam have their picnic date, hearts are opened and stories are shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam discusses the death of Riley and Steve talks about the death of his parents. Also the mention of being threatened with a knife.

Sam saw Steve enter the diner just minutes before he was set to clock off, and Nat intercepted him before he got the chance to say hello.

“Take these drinks over to the Lewis’s and then you can go.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam replied, smoothly carrying the tray to a booth by the window smiling at Mrs Lewis and her granddaughter, the former pursing her lips but nodding in a constrained measure of politeness, and the latter thanking him with a little more emphasis than necessary, almost as though to make up for her grandmother. Sam kept his expression professional and asked them if they needed anything more, and when they declined he ducked behind the counter pulling the strings of his apron. He hung it in the back room and collected his jacket, washing his hands, and checking himself out in the tiny mirror. Oh come on Wilson. This isn’t actually a _date_ date, you’re just paying the guy back for all his help. He shook his head at his reflection and exited onto the diner floor.

Steve stood chatting to Clint who was perched on a barstool, and Sam was welcomed by the expanse of his back and that glorious ass. Sam had almost stopped feeling guilty about enjoying the view, because masterpieces were meant to be admired, right? Steve turned to face Sam when Clint pointed him out, and he smiled broadly. Damn, the man cleaned up good, Sam thought, taking in the dark grey sweater and deep red shirt collars that indicated that he changed shirts after the auction and Sam felt flattered that Steve had changed up his look just to take him out. _Not a date, remember?_ he chastised himself.

“You ready?” Steve asked.

“I’m free, let’s go.”

“Have a nice time on your picnic date boys!” Nat called from behind the Lewis ladies, waving her arm high and deliberate, nearly every head in the diner turning to see who she was waving to. Mrs Lewis looked like she wanted to choke on her napkin, but Darcy and the other diners were grinning, a couple of them also waving them off. Steve tightened his jaw and waved back, and Sam raised his eyebrow and smirked, lightly resting his hand on the small of Steve’s back as he followed him out the door.

“Bloody Natasha.” Steve half laughed, half groaned as they got to his truck.

“Do you think she did that just to rub it in for Mrs Lewis?”

“Oh no, Nat would have done that even if we were the only ones there. The audience just meant she enjoyed it more.”

“Uh huh.” Sam nodded as he climbed in the passenger side, his arm resting on the large picnic basket between them. “So where are you taking me tonight?”

Steve looked over at him, smile wide and eyes sparkling. “Surprise.” was all he said, gunning the engine and taking the main road out of town. They drove along, silent but for the wind whistling through a partially open window, and soon took a side road that wove into the countryside. This part of the area was the greenest Sam had seen, and rose in a way that Sam hadn’t expected. He was used to the town and surrounding area seeming so flat, the hill range on this side feeling further away. And it was, the mountains loomed to the left some distance away, but this road elevated them just enough. Sam looked past Steve and out the driver’s side window and his jaw dropped. Below them was the town, the lights twinkling, and the low golden light of the evening brushed over the surrounding farms. Sam never thought he’d consider fields and farms beautiful, but here it looked almost like a painting.

“Wow.”

Steve pulled over to a grassy verge, parking the truck so it didn’t hinder the view and they got out, Sam carrying the basket from the cab, and Steve pulled some blankets from the back.

“Oh, are we going to do this like a real picnic?” Sam teased, nodding at the blankets in Steve’s arms.

“That depends. Do you want to sit on the grass or on the tray?” Steve replied, indicating either the verge or the back of the truck. The back of the truck was tempting, and it gave them a something to lean on, but the quaintness of the whole scenario won out and Sam opted for the grass.

Steve kicked a couple of pointed stones from the patch of grass and unfolded a bright red plaid wool blanket onto the ground, keeping a couple more folded beside them, one of which Sam opted to sit on, taking the most comfortable solution. He set the basket between them and watched as Steve pulled everything out.

“So is this the Lover’s Lookout town makeout spot?” Sam ribbed, aware of just how pretty and romantic the whole setting was, and uncomfortably repeating his previous admonishment that _this was NOT a date._

Steve chuckled. “Nah, that’s behind the high school on the road out to the factory. This road just takes you to the weather station, but you’ve got to cross into Fury’s land to get there. This right here gives you the best view of the whole Cradle.”

“Cradle?”

“Bishop’s Cradle is the name of the valley. I can’t say I know the history behind it, but the name remains.”

A rumble emitted from Sam’s stomach and he looked at Steve with a grim expression.

“Please tell me you’ve actually got some food in there. Between the auction and the diner, I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Steve looked scandalised, Sam wasn’t sure if it was from his admission of not eating all day or the suggestion that the basket might just be for show, and Steve untied the plaid ribbons and threw back the lid with a flourish. Inside Sam could see it was filled to the brim with an assortment of tupperware, which Steve started laying out on the blanket between them. Sam opened the first and found sandwiches, and Steve held out a pair of sturdy plastic plates ready to receive them. Sam took a hungry bite, the mixture of tender chicken pieces, crunchy coleslaw and tangy chutney combining to make one of the best damn sandwiches Sam had ever had in his life. He told Steve so, once his mouth was free and Steve offered him a beer and they clinked bottles in celebration of a decent meal with decent company. After the sandwiches, Sam left the pumpkin pie to Steve and opted for the apple pie instead, the pie crust flaking pieces of pastry all over his nice jacket but the taste was too good to care. Two slices later Sam was on the verge of food coma and contemplated the reality of falling asleep on the grass verge when Steve reached for the basket one last time.

“Ok, there’s just one thing left.”

“Oh man, after all of that, I’m not sure I could eat another bite.”

“Are you sure? Because I made these especially for you.” Steve teased, pulling the last container from the picnic basket and Sam was greeted with the site of a tinful of what Steve confirmed were peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Homemade of course, like everything else they’d eaten today except for the beer, although the way this meal had gone it wouldn’t have surprised him if Steve revealed he made homebrew too. Sam took a bite of a proffered cookie, amazed at the softness and smoothness enticing his tongue, and was torn between scoffing the rest of the batch into his mouth in one go or tearing off his clothes and offering himself to Steve on the grass verge right then and there. His natural scepticism won out over either reckless impulse, and he sat back on the corner of the blanket and considered Steve with a level eye.

“Cookies. You made me actual fucking cookies. Ok man, that’s it. Now I have to know the rest of it.”

“The rest of what?”

“Of you.” Sam said. “I’ve seen the good side, the kitten rescuing, cookie baking, car repairing, popcorn machine fixing, walk the old lady across the street side of you. Now for the rest. Tell me the bad side of Steven G Rogers.”

“What if there is no bad side?” Steve insisted.

“Spare me the apple pie doggy eyes. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to tell! I’m just… me. Don’t you trust me?”

Sam sat forward, crossing his leg under him so that he was facing Steve directly. “What I trust is that people are complex, flawed beings, and there’s no one in the world, save maybe Malala, who is truly without a bad side. And no, I don’t trust anyone who asks ‘don’t you trust me?’”

“So, what? You want to know what exactly?”

“What isn’t squeaky clean about you?”

Steve shrugged and huffed, looking mildly offended and stared off into the distance like he was thinking. After a moment he looked back and offered, “I never finished college?”

“Alright! That’s a start. Why didn’t you finish school? Bad grades?”

“Nah, nothing like that. I mean, I couldn’t stick to a major to save myself. I did a little bit of everything but I did alright in whatever I did. Struggled the most with Spanish but scraped by. But I came back home in my third year, and never went back.” He paused a moment to take a deep breath and then launched into the rest of the story.

“My dad had a heart attack. He was a carpenter, went straight into an apprenticeship out of school, never went to college. He was so happy that I wanted to go, but never pressed the issue if I had a different idea, you know? He worked with his hands every day of his life, was damn good at what he did, made houses that are still standing. Then one day, while on site, he went back to his truck to grab his lunch. A crewmate came to call him back from his break and found him in the driver’s seat, already gone. I came home to help mom with the funeral and joined his crew to help them finish the job. I knew my way around a site, and his business partner even offered to put me through an apprenticeship like my dad, but I wasn’t completely sure so the crew bought out dad’s share. And I just stayed around. Got jobs doing anything, and that’s what I’ve done ever since.” Steve shrugged. “That’s when I started running every day too. Got scared at how much crap I was eating, didn’t want to have a heart attack at 35.”

“Yeah? Living off ramen and soda everyday in college huh?”

“Pizza and hotdogs. Roommate worked as a delivery boy, would bring home a pizza after every shift. Oh and tequila. His older brother made frequent trips across the border, so there was always a bottle stashed somewhere. Not that my mom knew about the drinking though. I don’t think I could have faced her knowing just how many times I went to class hungover.”

“Oh tequila hangover? Fuck that. For us it was cheap beer and even cheaper bourbon. And one dollar tacos, there was a food truck parked on the corner of campus, they must have raked it in from all of us. I can’t see one of those trucks now without my stomach curling. The shit we put ourselves through when we’re young and dumb.”

“And broke.”

“And broke!”

Steve grabbed another couple of drinks from inside the truck, tucking the mostly empty basket inside, and turning the headlamps on low as the sun started its descent behind the horizon. The lights of the town below creating a slight haze over it’s sleepy little streets. Taking a bottle from Steve, Sam picked up where the conversation left off.

“Did you leave anyone behind when you came home?”

Steve nodded. “I had a girlfriend, Peggy. We’d been together like, a year and a half? She was really good about me going away after my dad died, at first it was hard for her to understand why I never came back, but then she got the chance to do her final year in England, so we realised we would have been apart anyway.”

“Any regrets there?”

“Yes and no? I was sad it didn’t work out, but then she’s happy and I’m happy, so it all worked out anyway? I get emails every holiday from her and her husband.” Steve said wistfully, grabbing a handful of grass and twisting the blades between his fingers.

“Anyone else serious? I’m still trying to figure why a guy as well loved as you is single. By the sounds of it, it doesn’t seem like you’re ace.”

Steve shrugged, not looking up from his hands, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to elaborate, and Sam wondered if he was pushing too far. Steve eventually chucked the blades of grass away and spoke slowly, deliberating each word.

“There’s been the occasional someone, but nothing serious. Like, sometimes I’ll hit it off with someone and it’ll start with a bang, but then it never seems to be anything more than physical, you know? Except for Peg. And if it hadn’t been for Peg I’d think I couldn’t love, but it’s never happened again, even when I’ve _wanted_ it to… I want the kinda love my mom and dad had, but sometimes I think I’m just… broken.” He petered off, still staring at his hands.

“You wanted to know what wasn’t perfect.” Steve said with a self-deprecating huff. “What about you? No one serious? Surely someone’s missed you by now.”

Sam sighed, still taking in everything Steve had chosen to share with him, and here in the fading autumn light, felt willing to share back. He nodded, answering Steve’s last question. “My family yes, but they all live in Brundville where we grew up, I’ve only got a couple of cousins in Colton City. My someone serious, he died. It’d be 3 years ago now.”

“Oh, Sam I’m sorry. We don't have to talk-”

Sam cut him off. It didn’t hurt to talk about anymore and he felt he could trust Steve with this.

“Nah, nah, it’s ok. I’ve done the grieving thing. It was just as soon as we got together I couldn’t see him not being there, and then when he wasn’t, it was hard to see myself with anyone else. I’ve just been to comfortable to move on, I guess. He’s still a part of me.”

“What was his name?” Steve asked quietly.

“Riley. He lived across the hall senior year and I took an internship in the city after college so we could stay together. He wanted to be a firefighter, it was his dream. He would run the full fitness circuit around the park twice with a backpack full of books to prepare. I used to join him on the weekend, except I’d stop after the first loop, and wait in the cafe for him to finish. He was so happy when he passed all of his training, both our moms threw him a party, man my family loved him as much as I did.” Sam smiled at the memory, his mind lost in the past.

“Then in a training accident he got hit by some falling gear, cracked a rib, punctured a lung. Adrenaline kept him upright so they didn’t know something was wrong until he hit the floor and they got him to the hospital. Felt like I was in that waiting room forever…” he shook his head instead of going on with that memory. He looked back at Steve’s truck, the headlights, making spots appear in front of his eyes.

“That’s why I didn’t just want to get a new car. He picked that one, said it would outlast us. That car was just the last promise we made to each other that I haven’t broken. I mean, I know it’s just a car, and I’ll remember him no matter what I drive, I think it was just with losing my job and everything, I didn’t want to lose that last bit of him too. I don't know. Maybe it’s not even about Riley anymore. Just… a lot of things are changing..”

“And you’d like something that’s still gonna be the same?” Steve offered, his voice bringing Sam back to the present and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, understanding. “I was the same after my mom died. Suddenly I had the house and her car and everything that she’d kept after my dad passed, and suddenly it was all mine… I kept everything in the house the way that it was, it took at least a year before I felt like I could change anything, let alone sell anything. But after a while I realised I wasn’t living my life, I was living the shadow of thiers. But yeah, I get it.”

Sam’s legs were starting to go numb under him and he remembered why he hadn’t sat cross-legged in a long time. At a certain age, your body just doesn’t want to let you. He stretched his legs out, rubbing the feeling into the back of his thighs. He looked over to where Steve sat, the light from the headlamps giving his an angelic glow, and not for the first time since meeting him, Sam was struck by just how handsome he was.

“Can I ask what happened to your mom?” Sam asked.

“Couple of years after dad passed, she was driving back from a reunion. It was the middle of winter and the snow was really bad, her car got stuck in a snowdrift on the side of the road. She ran out of gas just keeping the heat on, and had to be towed out in the morning when someone finally drove by and stopped. She ended up with pneumonia which she never quite shook and she died from it a couple of months later.”

“Shit, that’s hard. I’m sorry.”

Steve looked out over the valley, frowning at the town below.

“I know we live on the scenic route which doesn’t have the same traffic, but I always wondered how many cars went past her and never stopped. I swore I’d never leave somebody stranded like that. Hitchhikers, breakdowns, I always give them a ride or a tow. In a way, she’s the reason I met you. And Nat, she was hitching at a truck stop when I met her.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised at the new information. “Dude, really? I’m always scared as hell of hitchhikers. You ever see anyone that you didn’t want in your car?”

“Well there was the couple that pulled a knife on me.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam gaped. Steve at least had the decency to look a little sheepish at his dramatic reveal, and hurried to explain.

“It was just after Labor Day, not last year but the year before. I thought they were just feeling the heat until they got in and I saw they were obviously high on something. The guy pulled the knife and the girl got in the front. I just calmly gave them the keys and got out and they took off. I had to walk a few miles but I knew there was a farmhouse back the way I came, so I knocked on their door and they called the police for me.”

“Shit. Did that make you change your mind?”

“I stopped to pick up you, didn’t I?”

“In other words, of course it fucking didn’t. You don’t regret stopping for them?”

“If it hadn’t been me it just would have been someone else who might not have stayed calm and might have ended up hurt.” Steve shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to him.

“Bloody hell.” Sam swore, leaning back on his elbows and stretching his neck back until he was looking up at the sky, the calm of the night enveloping him as his eyes made out pinpricks of light in the dark of the night sky.

“I can see stars.” He said idly, letting his eyes focus to the dark. “You don’t ever see stars like this in the city.”

“They’re beautiful.” he added.

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, and out of the corner of Sam’s eye, it almost didn’t seem that Steve was talking about the sky.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stunning artwork is by [CapFalc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/capfalc), [(tumblr)](http://thunderhunk.tumblr.com).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony asks Sam how the picnic went, and Sam gets a haircut before the dance.

The diner is busy and filled with chatter the following day, and Sam has established a stride and is so in the groove he doesn’t notice when he misses his break. Nat swats him on the arm with a menu and tells him to sit down after he’d finished clearing one of his tables and Sam grabbed a grilled cheese sandwich and a bottle of water. He saw Tony relaxing in the corner booth where he often saw Clint lounging, but who was unusually absent today. Tony was flicking through a magazine, one hand loosely holding a nearly empty glass of iced tea, their hair and goatee slicked, the dark of their eyeshadow matching the navy number they wore. Sam’s sisters would be envious of Tony’s styling and would probably love to go shopping with them, Sam mused. 

“Looking classy. May join you?”

Tony looked up and batted their eyelashes, resting their chin on their hands, showing off a new shiny diamond ring on their left hand. “You can sit but you can’t flirt. I’ll have you know I’m a happily engaged person.”

“I know, I saw it happen.”

Tony blushed smiling wide, bringing their hands down to look at their ring again. 

“Any other festival excitement I’ve had to miss?” Sam asked, 

“Sophie Dugan was crowned Miss Harvest Queen after her pageant rival was disqualified for flashing her panties at a judge backstage to get extra points. The judge has also been disqualified, and I believe is in the process of being kick out of home by his irate wife, who is also a pageant judge.” Tony rattled off as easy as if they were discussing the weather. Sam narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. 

“You know what, I’m at the point where anything you or Clint could possibly tell me about the people of this town will be assumed to be true but I reserve the right to also believe you’re both full of shit too.”

Tony laughed. “I do love a good pageant. Something dramatic always happens. It brightens the usual small town vibe.”

“Let me guess, former Harvest Queen?”

Tony shook their head. “Sadly no, I only ever attended the pageant once. My senior year of school. Steve was my date - did you know he and I had dated?”

Sam nodded. “He mentioned it, said you all coming out was a pretty big deal in town.”

“Was it ever. I’d always loved the festival and ever since I was little I wanted to be crowned Harvest Queen and it felt so wrong that I wasn’t allowed to compete just because everyone thought I was a boy. Maria hated doing the pageant but her mom made her do all the junior events every year, so when it came to senior year we all hatched a plan. Maria allowed herself to be signed up but switched with me at the last minute and I pretended to be her for the whole thing. I didn’t win and the board and my grandpa flipped their collective lids, but I got to be a Pumpkin Princess for a while at least.”

Sam schooled his face to not laugh at the title of ‘Pumpkin Princess’ and chose instead to express his admiration. “That’s pretty damn gutsy.”

“I thought I was going to be dragged out of there every second, but having Steve there, the sweetheart, stopped me from completely chickening out.” Tony admitted quietly, before changing the subject. “Speaking of, how did your picnic date with Stevie go?”

Sam shuffled his plate around until he’d finished his mouthful. “We went up near the, uh, weather station? Got a decent view of town up there.”

“Uh huh,  _ and?” _

“ _ And,  _ we had a picnic. That was kinda the point of the auction, right?”

“The point of the auction is to fight over the prettiest boys in town and make some money for a swim hall that will never be built.”

Sam looked up from his grilled cheese and avoided the obvious road Tony’s inquiry was taking. “What do you mean it won’t be built?”

Tony rolled their eyes and leaned forward. “The school has been raising money for that thing since _ I _ was in school. If they still haven't built it they never will. But you’re stalling. Are you and blessed Stevie going to be going …  _ picnicking _ again soon?”

“You know I’m going home once my car is fixed, right?”

Tony sat back against the booth and looked Sam over and couple of times before sighing. “If that’s what you insist.”  
  


Sam finished at the diner and was bouncing on his heels on his way to his car. It was finally the last day of this orange-fueled festival, and all day he’d been hearing update after update about the pageant scandal Tony had mentioned, and he was sick of hearing it. He was wanting a shower and a shave before getting ready for the Harvest Dance, he hadn’t been to a formal dance since his senior year at highschool, and he was actually quite looking forward to it. His keys got hooked in the lining of his jacket pocket and it took him a moment to untangle it, and while he did, his ears caught the smooth sound of some blues playing nearby. He turned around to hear it better and found it emanating from the barbershop and he stepped over to lean on the door frame, bold closed sign hanging from the door, and he stood there to listen. 

“You want’n a cut?” The man sweeping up the floor was a kind looking older black man, grey curling in his hair and beard, strong steady hands and a slight shuffle in the way he moved the broom. 

“Just stopping to listen to the music, actually. You know who’s that singing?”

The old man stopped sweeping and leant up on the broom, taking his time to catch the song, and chuckled . “ _ to know her was to love her, and to hear her was to cry, now who will hold her close and who will dry her eyes? ...Now who will tell Lucille? Every day we have the blues…”  _ he starts crooning to the music,eyes closed and swaying back and forth. Sam smiled. He knew the feeling to a song taking you somewhere, and he stayed to appreciate the song that took the old man someone. 

After another chorus the man opened his eyes and shuffled over to the counter, pulling a CD case from the top of a stack and shuffling back to hand it to Sam. Sam flipped the case over, the cover giving his answer -   _ Derrick Procell.  _

“My wife and I went up to Syracuse so see our new grandson a couple years ago, and my son took us to see this guy sing. Liked him.” The barber said, finishing his last sweep of the shop and tucking the broom out of the way. Sam handed the case back which the barber took and put back on the stack as a new song started playing. 

“Thanks.” 

“You headed to the dance tonight, son?”

“I am.”

“You planning on going looking like that?”

Sam chuckled. “I thought you were closed.” He said pointing to the sign on the door. 

The guy shrugged. “We close when I leave. I ain’t left yet. Now are you gonna do something about that head of yours before you scare your partner away?”

Sam reached up and ran a hand over his hair, in the time he’d been in Grayson it had grown out just enough to get a bit rough around the edges. Sam hadn’t thought about it, but the man was right, it could do with a tidy up.

“Fine, you’ve sold me. Pull me up a chair, Pops.”

The barber cracked a wide smile filled with white teeth and indicated the chair in the middle on the line. Sam hung his jacket on the coatrack by the door and slid onto the chair, staring back at himself in the big mirror while the old man pulled an apron over him and fastened it around Sam’s neck. Sam watched in the mirror as the man gave him a critical once over. 

“Short and sweet?” he guessed.

“Short and sweet.” Sam confirmed with a smile, liking the old man’s style. The barber prepared his clippers, set them aside and padded a brush through Sam’s hair, making conversation.

“You liking here in town? Reckon you’ll stay?”

“It’s as good as any place I guess, but I’m only passing through.” Sam said, used to dodging the routine set of questions every day at the diner. In the mirror he could see the old man scoff. 

“Sure. I seen you about. You’ve been working with Rhodes’s boy at the diner, and everyone saw you at the auction day before yesterday, beating out the ladies for Ben Roger’s son. Don’t think they’ve ever had a bid go that high, heard a lot of people say.”

Damn, Sam hadn’t thought about that when he made his bid on Steve. All he’d wanted to do was pay the guy back, not become the cause for small town gossip. 

Sam cleared his throat. “They guy is fixing my car for me, but won’t take a cent to do it. Had to give back somehow.” Sam finished, not sounding all that convincing, but the barber nodded and smiled. 

“He’s his father’s boy, through and through.” 

Sam met the barber’s eye in the mirror and raised an eyebrow quizzically. The barber finished with the brush, stopped to confirm the length Sam wanted and adjusted the blades to suit. As he ran the clippers methodically over Sam’s head, he explained. 

“Damn good people, the Rogers. One night my wife and I came home from the church play our kids were in, found a storm had blown over the neighbour’s oak tree right into our house, caved the roof right in. I’d just opened this place and all my money was here, couldn’t afford to fix the house on nothing, and we were living outta the garage for lack of something better. 

Ben Rogers, now he was a carpenter, had his own business and his people to pay and his wife and baby to feed, but he went ahead and fixed up my house and didn’t put a due date on the bill. Just told me to fix it up whenever I could. And his wife Sarah, she came around everyday with a meal for my kids, organised places for us to stay where we could sleep and shower til the house was done, even took one of ours in despite her boy only being a year or so old himself.”

He paused only to tilt Sam’s head down to tidy the nape, and continued his story. 

“I promised that man that he’d never be charged for a cut here, and I never have, but after every time Ben went to leave he’d stuff the money in the tip jar anyway, wouldn’t take no for an answer. And that boy grew up just like them, insists on paying as well. Took them a long time to be able to have him, and that boy was the apple of their eye. My wife and I did what we could when Ben died, and after Sarah was caught in the cold and was bedridden, took them meals and helped with the funerals.”

Telling Sam that he could lift his head again, he brushed the cut ends from Sam’s shoulders, eyeballing the evenness, running the clippers over the odd section until it met his standard.

“So you did a good thing, giving back what you could to that boy, even if he won’t take it direct. He’s a good man. Now, tell me son, isn’t that better than the raggedy mop you came on in with?”

“Ok, ok I’ll admit, it looks damn good. What do I owe you?”

The old man pulled off the cape, shaking it out and draping it over the chair. 

“Forget about it. You’re with Ben’s boy.”

Sam thought to what Steve had told him during their picnic, about losing his parents and about feeling broken, and a lump formed in his throat. 

“Not a chance, Pops.” Sam said, clearing his throat, pulling out his envelope of tips and after a thought shoving the whole thing into the barber’s tip jar, grabbing his jacket from the coat stand and waving on his way out the door. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a marvelous night for a Harvest Dance

Sam gave himself a final once-over in the mirror about the mantle, deciding he was ready for the dance and exited the den and he stopped in his tracks at the sight of the tall blond standing in the living room.. Steve wore a smart leather jacket instead of a suit jacket, a pale gray shirt and, Sam had to laugh at, the sexiest navy blue jeans he’d ever seen in his life. 

“Dude, do you wear anything other than jeans? You’re making me feel a little overdressed.” 

Steve turned and his eyes went wide as he took in the sight of Sam and spluttered out an apology “No, no, Sam! You look… great. Wow…” he breathed out the last word and Sam was forced to look down at himself as Steve’s eyes scanned downward. Sam was wearing the dark brown suit he’d packed for his interview in New Corville, but instead of a white shirt and tie, he opted for the other button down he’d packed, a dark red with navy pinstripe. Sam spun on his heel, giving the guy the full 360 and finished with a flourish and a smirk.

“Gotta flaunt what you got, right?”

Steve nodded, “Well, I won’t disagree with you there.” he laughed, not meeting Sam’s eyes. He started patting his pockets, scanning across the kitchen bar, until he found his keys in his jacket pocket and pulled them and out shook them in the air. 

“You ready to go?” he asked and Sam gestured to the door. 

“After you.”

They drove out to the Town Hall which was in what Steve called the Old Town Quarter, next to the Baptist church and the pre-school and opposite the original town square, which was now split between a plant nursery and a small dog park. The street was getting full of parked cars and they found a spot for themselves just behind the church. Approaching the hall, Sam could see a banner hanging above the open doors and the front steps lined with artfully painted ornamental pumpkins, as well as a courtyard with several picnic tables that was lit primarily by strings of white fairy lights which were a nice change of colour to the assorted yellow and orange streamers twining their way around every pole, banister and window frame. 

“Well don’t you two boys look smart together!” came a voice from the top of the stairs, Angie waving down at them, her navy dress and blue denim jacket disappearing inside as her friends called her away. 

They followed a group of teenagers into the hall and the cacophony of colour continued inside. Like everywhere Steve went in town, people came up to greet him but they also turned to greet Sam directly after and he felt strangely a part of this odd, pumpkin celebrating community. Being seen together prompted a few comments about the spectacle they’d made at the auction, but there were just as many people who asked if they’d seen Tony and Rhodes, wanting to congratulate them and Sam was thankful that his extra high bid was outshone by the local engagement, and rightly so, he thought. 

They found Tony and Rhodey inside and receiving a queue of well-wishers, Rhodes was in a traditional tux, cummerbund, cufflinks and all, but Tony stole the show in a long glamorous scarlett dress and heels with an obnoxiously gold jacket to top it off. Sam had gotten so used to not carrying his phone, seeing as he couldn’t get signal in town, and he mentally kicked himself for only just now realising that it also meant that he wasn’t carrying a camera, the one day he wanted to take a picture of the friends he’d made. The thought of calling these people, who a month ago Sam hadn’t met, his friends touched him and he felt a little choked up as he and Steve said their hello’s.

“Are you ever not this lovely?” Sam asked Tony, giving them a hug and Rhodes chuckled beside them.

“Only at 4am when an international client is being ridiculous and Tony hasn’t changed sweatpants in three days.” Rhodes chided affectionately and Tony sighed at their fiancee.

“You’re ruining the glamour, darling.”

“Never.” Steve protested, kissing Tony on the cheek after shaking Rhodey’s hand. The four of them shuffled closer to the dance floor as more people filled the hall, smiling and waving at the familiar faces as they passed. 

“Here comes trouble.” Tony whispered behind his hand and the three of them turned to see Darcy and Mrs Lewis enter that hall. Rhodes excused himself and greeted the ladies at the door.

“I need to go speak to President Rhodes for a minute, why don’t you go talk to your friends.” Mrs Lewis said to Darcy, shooing her directly towards where Steve and Sam were standing. Darcy walks over, letting her voluminous skirt sway around her and stops dead in front of Steve. 

“Oh Steve! I didn’t see you there. Do you by chance have a partner lined up for the first dance?” She said very primly and Sam found himself having sudden  _ Stepford Wives _ flashbacks and was ready to drag Steve to safety at the first sign of danger.

“Hello Darcy. I’m taken for the first dance I’m afraid, but I must say you’re looking lovely this evening.’

“Thank you.” she said sweetly, turning deliberately to look aver her shoulder, and seeing that Rhodey had guided Mrs Lewis out of earshot, turned back to them, the big pageant smile falling from her face. 

“Ok Rogers, here’s how it’s going to be. You dance whatever first dance you’ve got but then it’s you and me for the next two and after that I’m dancing with Phil for the rest of the night. Sound good to you?”

Tony covered their mouth to hold back a laugh and watched the conversation with raised immaculate eyebrows. Sam looked from Steve’s deliberating frown to Darcy. Her demanding statement was softened by the quiet pleading in her eyes and it all fell together for Sam.

“Hold on, you hate your grandmother’s matchmaking as much as Steve does, don’t you?” Sam asked and Tony released the pearly laugh they’d been holding. Darcy nodded. 

“I’m her only granddaughter. This has been going on since my mom eloped when she remarried when I was 15. My nonna was deprived of a family wedding and has been trying to orchestrate one ever since.”

Sam cringed.

“Next time tell her Old Man Fury would be willing to drag her down the aisle and bicker with her for the rest of their retirement. I’m sure he’d love the company.” Tony suggested, nodding fondly towards an elderly black man seated by the punch bowl, with a cane and an eyepatch. Darcy cracked up laughing.

“I totally will! But for tonight, what do you say, Rogers?”

Steve smiled and held out his hand. “I’ll see you for the second dance.” and leant forward and kissed her fingers when she took his hand. They heard a faint squeal from the direction of Rhodey and Mrs Lewis, and Darcy dashed over, loudly asking her grandmother if she needed a glass of water. 

“So who are you dancing with first?” Tony asked as the commotion wore down.

Steve raised his eyebrows and glanced in Sam’s direction, but Sam cut him off. 

“Don’t look at me. I’ve promised my first dance already.”

“To who!?” Steve asked, aghast. 

“Mrs Rhodes.” Sam answered with a smirk to keep the mood light, but felt a tug inside him at the slightly deflated look in Steve’s eyes. Damn. He really did want to have the first dance with Sam. He nudged Steve with his elbow. “Hit me up for a spin when you’re done torturing Mrs Lewis, alright?” and watched the smile creep back onto his face, and with it another twist in his gut. 

Tony linked their arm with Steve’s. “I’ll dance with you Stevie. It might be the last time you get to dance with me before I’m formally spoken for. Rhodey won’t mind.” they said, waggling their fingers to show off their engagement ring. 

“I’d be honoured.” Steve replied, giving Tony another kiss on the cheek and Sam’s gut twisted violently. Oh damn. This is going to be a long night.    


Sam looked around to find Tony’s soon to be mother in law amidst the crowd of talking and laughing townsfolk. There were groups gathered throughout the hall, around a refreshments table or on the various chairs lining the hall. Up on stage a band was setting up and Sam gaped to see a familiar bowler hat among them. Dugan, in a dark grey waistcoat and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, was sitting tuning a banjo as four other men aligned their chairs and assorted instruments with the microphone stands.

A tall slender man with a mustache seeking to rival Dugan’s and a vaguely British accent cleared his throat over the microphone, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlefolk, my name is Monty Montgomery and the Howling Commandos are just going to be warming up and I hope you all have a good evening and enjoy yourselves here tonight.”

Several people clapped in recognition and the disjointed strum and pluck of strings filled the room and Sam finally spotted Mrs Rhodes, examining what turned out to be the display of winning gourd/flower arrangements from this year. He excused himself and made his way over to her, and complimented her on looking her Sunday best. She complimented him on his attire, but scolded him for not wearing a tie and then they were interrupted by Dugan’s unmistakeable voice over the speakers. 

“Hello everybody and welcome to the Grayson Annual Harvest Dance, and as Monty said, we’re the Howling Commandos and we’re happy to be back playing this gig again. I’m Big Dugan on the banjo, Monty and Gabe are our other string men and will be singing for ya tonight. Jim Morita is the spry fella on the drums and Frenchie will be playing everything else. I hope y’all have a wonderful evening and leave some punch for us in the intermission.”

Amid a flurry of laughs, the band kicked in with a bluegrass version of  _ Oh What a Night _ , and Sam offered his arm to Mrs Rhodes and together they joined the dancers on the floor. They swayed gently to the music, easing into the dancing mood and making friendly conversation up until the final chord. Rhodey appeared beside them and tapped Sam on the shoulder, leaning in to kiss his mother when Sam stepped back. 

“Wilson, I didn’t know you had designs as my mother’s dance partner.”

“Only until a better man comes along.” Sam said, waving Rhodey into his place as the next song began.

“If you keep Tony company.” Rhodey capitulated, and Sam nodded, looking for where he last saw Steve and Tony on the floor. Steve had already been swept up by Darcy when he found them and Sam and Tony slow danced so they could watch the pair and laugh as they danced to  _ Don’t Stop Believing  _ and  _ How Deep is You Love _ before she abandoned him as planned for the young Phil Coulson. 

It was by this time that Nat and Clint joined them, fashionably late but definitely fashionable. Tony gushed over Natasha’s dress, which clung to her body in a shiny black that shimmered a deep red under the light. Clint, to match his black shirt, had painted his cast black and had Macguyvered some roller skate wheels onto the base so that he could roll his leg around without the need of crutches. 

“Oh hell, keep him away from the fucking punch or he’ll break the other one by the night is out.” Steve muttered into Sam’s ear and he stifled back a laugh as Nat raised an eyebrow in their direction, Steve giving her his best Boy Scout smile and she rolled Clint into the crowd. Now left alone, Steve put a hand on his hip and stared expectantly at Sam.

“So where’s my dance?” 

“Oh, if you’re that bossy, it’s no wonder Darcy left you.” Sam chided and Steve just rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand. 

“You’re dancing with me, Wilson. You promised.”

The band kicked the beat up a bit with  _ How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You  _ and they bopped along, Steve sharing his experience of dancing with Darcy while Mrs Lewis hovered, and eventually devolved into the two men pointing and laughing at each other as they competed to make the cheesiest face while singing along. The competition continued into the next song, with most of the dance floor and many of the wallflowers joining in as the band played  _ Hooked on a Feeling _ . 

_ Don’t Stop _ became  _ This Old Heart Of Mine _ and they were split up as Nat and Clint cruised through again, and Sam twirled Natasha around the floor as Steve tried to keep Clint from taking out any other dancers with his unwieldy cast. Eventually they took a break, grabbing some locally brewed apple cider from the refreshment table and sat back and watched everyone else for a while. They saw Maria and Sharon making out in the middle of the crowd, Darcy and Phil were still going strong together while Rhodey and Tony only had eyes for each other and they even spotted Mrs Lewis in the arms of none other than Old Man Fury. 

Quill and his girlfriend stopped for a cup of the obnoxiously pink punch, decked in matching leather jackets and fingerless gloves, and after spotting them, Pete took it upon himself to air guitar along to  _ Feels Like the First Time,  _ until he’d coaxed Sam to his feet. Sam turned and held out his hand to Steve, pulling him to his feet and Steve had to grab ahold of Sam to stop him from colliding with another dancer. Sam found himself suddenly a lot closer to Steve than he’d intended and he drew in a quick breath.

“Sorry.” he said at the same time as Steve, the tension breaking as they laughed, the current song coming to a close around them.

The next song was a slower one, one designed for swaying extra close to your partner and Sam and Steve shuffled awkwardly until they found they right distance between them and Steve touched the small of Sam’s back, anchoring them together. It took Sam a moment to catch the song, but was impressed by the smooth rendition of  _ Me and Mrs Jones _ and gazing into Steve’s cool blue eyes and sunny smile that made him feel so soft and warm inside, Sam had to wonder that maybe Marvin Gaye hadn’t failed him after all.

“I have a surprise for you.” Steve said as the song ended, his face flushed and it was impossible to tell if it was from the slow dance or the combined heat of so many people in one place. 

“How bout we get some air?” Sam suggested and Steve nodded, and together they casually made their way to the doors. 

The cool night air was a relief and they could hear some chatter in the parking lot, so Steve turned the other way and Sam followed him over to the courtyard. A woman was standing next to a man as he dragged from the stub of his cigarette, and he extinguished the last and they made their way inside, nodding to Sam and Steve as they left, and then the two of them were alone. The fairy lights twinkled prettily, looking like stars to Sam and he wondered if he could see any in the sky. He leaned back against a picnic table and looked up, and sure enough, even through the minimal light pollution of the town, there shone the Milky Way as stretched across the clear night sky. 

Steve teetered forward gently and in the low light under the string of lights and Sam was too occupied looking up at the stars and nearly missed the moment until Steve was within breathing distance and his lips brushed lightly across Sam's. It was dry and gentle, over in a moment but it warmed him through and he hovered close. There was a huff of warm breath, the hint of apple cider and Sam licked his lips, watching as Steve’s eyes darted down to the movement of his tongue. 

A rush of laughter and movement broke into their moment, as a bunch of teenagers exited the front doors, cajoling each other and one young man was shoved on the shoulder and nearly staggered into them as the crowd passed by. They broke apart and Steve reached out to catch the youngster. 

"Oh! Sorry, Mr Rogers!" The gangly teen looked up and Sam recognised him as the kid from the auction, the diving team captain. Steve patted him on the shoulder.

"Watch your feet next time, Parker. And you kids, don't wreak too much havoc tonight, alright?"

"Sure thing, I mean, haha we won't!" Parker corrected himself as the group burst into giggles. The girl in the navy frill dress curled her arm into Parker’s, pulling him away. 

"I'll take care of Parker, you have a good night Mr Rogers, and your friend."

"You too." Steve said.

"You don't have to take care of me MJ." Parker said, a protestation undermined as he kicked an ornamental pumpkin as they turned away. He scrambled to pick it up and MJ pulled him to standing.

"Sure i don't." she said fondly, stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. Parker flushed and allowed himself to be lead away. 

Inside the hall the music has just come to a rousing end and Rhodey’s familiar voice could be heard on a microphone, gathering everyone's attention. Steve glanced at Sam and as much as he wished, their moment was over. 

"You uh, can tell me that surprise later, ok?" Sam said and Steve blinked and nodded when he remembered a what he'd said earlier. 

They made their way inside to hear the rest of Rhodey’s speech, who stood up on the stage,  one arm cradling Tony to his side and they looked at him with such love and devotion that Sam was struck by the surety that he ready to believe in love again.

After the band had had their break, and Rhodey and Carol Danvers had concluded their speeches for the final event of the Harvest Festival for the year, the music continued. The energy from earlier carried on, and everybody seemed to want to make sure they danced with everyone else before the night was through. Sam barely had more than half a song with Steve for the rest of the night, instead switching between dancing with Nat and Clint, Sharon and Maria, Tony, and even the Town President himself, Rhodey.

Bowing out at the end of  _ Southern Nights _ , Sam found himself followed off the floor by Steve, the blond flushed and a little breathless, and suddenly Sam wanted the company of only one person.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” Sam asked, motioning to the door. Steve blinked a couple of times and then nodded, a slow smile creeping across his face. 

“Yeah.”

They left the truck where it was behind the church and Steve showed Sam the short cut home, cutting through the dog park and coming out between the doctor’s surgery and the town square, where only two days before the auction had been held. They opted to go through the suburbs rather than go through town past the diner, and the streets were quiet, the mixture of old and new houses sat mostly dark but for the occasional security lamp. Sam had buttoned his suit up to retain the heat from all the dancing and apple cider, and they kept a decent pace to combat the crisp fall air.

It wasn’t long before they turned onto a familiar street, one Sam had been driving up and down for the past 5 weeks, and made it back to Steve’s house, Dugan’s Crown Vic marking it on the street. Sam looked up, a blanket of stars stretching across the night sky, the sheer magnitude of it all bringing a lump to Sam's throat.  

"We're home." 

Home. It wasn't a word Sam had used in a long time for anywhere, even for his momma’s place, but here with Steve this was the closest he'd felt to what he remembered home feeling like. 

Reaching into his pocket to grab his door key, Steve turned, leaning his elbow against the doorframe. 

"I've, uh, that surprise..."

"Tell me inside." Sam smiled and Steve nodded, his face in the softest smile.

The door clicked shut behind them and Sam touched the front of Steve's jacket, and determined not to lose this moment again, tightened his fingers, closing the gap between them and leaned in to press his lips to Steve's. Steve froze for a moment and Sam began to wonder if he'd judged the moment wrong but then Steve melted into the kiss and pressed forward with his whole body, slowly backing Sam against the wall. He felt a hand come up and cradle the back of his head, and he tilted back and his lips parted, his tongue seeking forth, brushing against Steve’s lower lip, only for it to give way and be met with a hungry tongue in return.

Oh god he wanted this. For all his blatant appreciation of the male figure, Sam was picky about who he took to bed, and for too long he’d shut himself off to avoid any type of personal connection. But here, now, he  _ wanted _ . 

Sam took his hold on Steve’s jacket and pulled the man closer so their bodies were flush and could feel Steve’s chest against his and the brush of Steve’s thighs, and he ran a hand up the firm contours of Steve’s abdomen. He felt them shudder beneath his touch and the kiss became hungrier and Sam was met with the unmistakable bulge behind Steve’s zipper as it grazed across Sam’s own burgeoning erection. All thought of pace and decorum went out the window and Sam dragged the soft leather jacket off Steve’s shoulders, until Steve’s hands moved away long enough to shuck the jacket the rest of the way off, returning to reach for the buttons on Sam’s shirt and Sam huffed in Steve’s ear, raking his fingers underneath his shirt. 

“Bedroom.”

“Yeah.” Came the strangled reply and Steve pushed him down the hall and they scrambled together, hands and mouths exploring and undressing, leaving a trail of clothes behind them. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are made, and Sam has a decision to make.

Sam woke slowly, so enveloped in warmth and dreams and good feelings, that it took him a minute to realise that not only was he not in his bed in his apartment where he hadn’t slept in the last four weeks, but he was also not on the foldout couch in the den, being blinded by the curtains that didn’t quite close all the way and shone the morning light into his eyes everyday. Instead, he found himself in a proper bed, in a proper bedroom, _Steve’s bedroom,_ he remembered, the previous night’s events emerging in his mind. The dance, the lights, the kiss, the heat, Sam grinned stupidly remembering how foolish he’d been trying to convince himself that there was nothing between them, when the way Steve kissed him proved so very much otherwise. He reached out to find Steve, and maybe just kiss him again, but his fingers only found other pillows, and he lifted his head, confirming that Steve was nowhere in the room.

Huh, Sam thought, listening out for the sounds of the man somewhere else in the house, but couldn't make out any of the familiar sounds of a shower running or movement in the kitchen and he sat up properly, wondering if Steve was still the type to go for a run the morning after having someone in his bed.

Throwing back the covers and pulling on his boxers from off the floor, Sam padded down the hall, calling Steve’s name. When no reply came, he opened the door and poked his head to check the carport, but other than Sam’s own Saturn sitting quietly, his search had come up short. Turning back to the kitchen, turning the kettle on as a habit and he looked around for something, a note maybe, to tell him where Steve may have gone.

On the breakfast counter, at the spot Sam had claimed to sit and have his coffee every morning, was an envelope with his name on it. He slid onto the barstool, roughly fingering it open, tearing the paper as he went. Out toppled a set of car keys, _his_ car keys and a note that simply read _all fixed and running smoothly_ and Sam flipped the scrap of notepaper over but nothing else was written on it and he was a little stunned.

With Steve not at home, and calling his cellphone out of the option, Sam had no idea what to do next. He considered calling someone, Nat maybe, and he looked at the list of local numbers on the wall by the landline, not knowing where to start. Does he go through the numbers and call them all, asking if anyone has seen Steve that morning? So many phone calls seemed excessive, it wasn’t like the guy had been kidnapped, and besides, most of the list were home numbers, so unless Steve decided to have breakfast at someone else’s place that particular morning, then it’s not likely they would have seen him. Not to mention the awkwardness if he’d only dashed out to buy some bagels or something and Sam responded by calling up half the town.

It just seemed weird, Sam thought. Sure, the guy likes to go for a morning run, but the morning after sleeping with someone? There was an etiquette that was missing and it was throwing Sam for a loop. After the first time, you’re supposed to be there the next morning, let each other touch base and find out if everything’s still cool between you. Leaving when they were still asleep, that was more in line with a one night stand, and this hadn’t felt like that, at least not to Sam, which only left him with the wondering doubt about what it may or may not have meant to Steve. Sam didn’t want to believe it.

The loud click of the kettle sounding as it reached boiling and turned itself off jolted Sam out of his worrying and he looked up at the clock above the oven. Shit, he thought. He had work at the diner today. He got up in a hurry, coffee still unmade and hurriedly crept around Steve’s room to find what clothing of his might be found from last night, and he jumped in the shower.

There  was still no sign of Steve when Sam got out, and as he was getting ready to leave for work, the lingering concern had turned to hurt and scrambling around for his shoes, he was becoming pissed off. Who the hell does that? Just leave with no note. No word. He zipped up his jacket with an angry pull, and checked his pockets for the keys to the Crown Vic. About to walk out the door, he stopped and turned back, pulling a page off the notepad by the phone and scrawled _At the diner_ onto the yellow square.

He slapped it onto the counter, seeing again the keys for the Saturn and looking back to the keys in his hand, debated for a moment before leaving his keys on the counter untouched, and he stormed out the door, locking it behind him.

He expelled as much of his bad mood as he could by angry singing along to _We Didn’t Start The Fire_ and the beginning of _You May Be Right_ before finding a park by the bank and turning the key, cutting off Billy Joel mid-word. Inside the diner Sam shoved his jacket into a cubby hole probably a little roughly, but other than Happy who was prepping the grill, there was no one else there to see Sam pouting. He looked into the tiny, fingerprint stained mirror and glared at himself. Pull it together man, and do your fucking job. He took a couple of deep breaths, put on his best poker face and went back out into the diner, grabbing what he needed to prep the tables before they opened to the public.

Sam prided himself on being a pretty decent poker player, and as such his poker face held out fairly well against the customer’s usual curiosity, especially with all the gossip about the festival, and Sam was rather grateful that the pageant had had a scandal as he suspected it cut down on the number of customers asking him how he’d enjoyed the dance. One person he couldn’t escape, however was Natasha, who watched him curiously.

“You doing ok there Sam?”

“Just missed my coffee this morning, is all.” He said, using the half-truth to brush her off and she let it be.

The diner was busy, and Sam was grateful for the steady stream of customers and it was in this middle of this rush that Sam saw Steve for the first time since they’d ripped the clothes off each other the night before. He looked anxious, shifting his hands in and out of his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them and looking around. When he saw Sam he headed straight over to where Sam had just loaded a tray with plates and was heading to the kitchen.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Sam looked over his shoulder to where a table that had just flagged him down was waiting and where most of the diner was full, and he looked back at Steve exasperated.

“Kinda slammed here, man.”

“Yeah, of course, shit, sorry…” Steve spluttered stepping out of his way so that Sam could empty his tray at the wash station and swing back to the table for their order. When Sam passed again he could see Steve still hanging about, but he was demanded from table to table and the next time he looked up it seemed Steve had gone.

Sam was split between wanting to chase after him and ask him _what the hell?_ and wanting to forget he exists for the day, and he hated that Steve had gotten under his skin like this. His teeth grated at the sound _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ as it sung out from the radio, but he knew it wasn’t Bonnie Tyler’s fault, and he put his head down and pushed through the rest of the day, keeping his feelings at bay as best he could.

Reluctantly heading back to Steve’s, Sam barely heard the radio and he when parked outside the house Sam just sat in the Crown VIc for a minute before braving it and heading in. He was tired, hungry and really not in the mood to be reminded why his day started so bad, but he had face Steve and whatever his reason was for ditching him this morning, and maybe once he knew that he could move on, he thought.

Steve was in the kitchen chopping up a coleslaw and the place was filled with the warm smell of something cooking and Sam’s mouth involuntarily watered. But seeing Steve again, he hesitated. Come on, he urged himself, just ask him what happened. Be a fucking adult.

“Hey man.” Sam began, taking a deep breath and coming up to the breakfast bar, where he saw the keys that Steve had left for him that morning and then the lump was back in his throat. Steve followed his eyes.

“Hi, so, you car is all fixed! That was the surprise I wanted to give you, I left your keys out this morning-”

“I saw them, thanks.” Sam said cutting in, suddenly not sure he wanted to hear anything about this morning. Instead, he cleared his throat, pulled his poker face back on and lifted his head to meet Steve’s eye.

“What do I owe you?”

“What? No. You don’t owe anything.” Steve frowned, huffing a sigh. “We’ve been over this.”

“Right.” Sam replied. They looked at each other for a minute not saying anything, Steve frowning and Sam passive and cold, an impasse between the stubborn and the hurt. Eventually Steve took a deep breath and tilted his head.

“Sam, are you mad at me?” Steve’s inquiry was soft and genuine and Sam shook his head and looked away, it burning him that the guy didn’t seem to know.

“What do you think?” Sam muttered under his breath, a little coldly. Ok, that was a little passive aggressive. Sam inhaled slowly to calm himself down. Just fucking ask it.

“What the hell happened this morning, man? Where did you go?”

“I went for a run to get my truck from the church, and uh, Hank, Mr Pym asked me for help…” Steve trailed off, his shoulders going slack and dropping as he heard the weakness of his own explanation, and Sam raised his eyebrows waiting for the important part.

“Was it life or death?” Sam asked, a little sarcastically, but he couldn’t deny that there was a small part inside of him begging that it was some emergency so he could forgive the guy and they could start again.

“No.”

“Was it something you could have gone back to later?”

“Yeah, I guess-”

“Was it more important than the guy you left in your bed?”

“...no.” Steve whispered, dropping his head.

His admission didn’t make Sam feel any better, it just pushed a sick feeling into his stomach.

“Dude, I woke up alone. Do you know what that feels like? No goodbye. No way to reach you. You didn’t even leave me a note.” Sam rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “:So yeah, I’m mad.”

Steve was staring at the floor frowning, his shoulders hunching in on themselves. Sam turned to leave the room, any energy he had left to deal with this, now definitely gone.

“There’s dinner if you-” he heard behind him and he cut it off.

“I’m not hungry.”

Sam walked off to the den, closing the door behind him, hoping like hell that Steve wasn’t going to follow. He sat down on the fold-out with a thump, got out his laptop and fired it up, wanting desperately to see some part of the world outside of this suffocating town.

There was an email from his momma, telling him all the news from the family, and another from his cousin telling him about the band he saw at their favourite bar in the city. His momma asked again if he’d heard from the company in New Corville and how the car repairs were going and how was Steve?, and Sam started typing a reply, stating that the job status was still a mystery but the Saturn was fixed and then he stalled, his fingers hesitant over the keyboards. Only a day ago he’d been drafting in his head everything he’d tell his momma that had happened at the Festival, thinking she’d have a ball to read about all the small town personalities and gossip. And Steve? Oh momma, right now you don’t want to know. Sam thought.

The tiredness and the anger and the hurt welled up and his fingers hit the keys and he poured his heart out to the screen, starting with the festival and the dance and ending with today, then he deleted the whole thing and started ranting again.At some point during his pattern of rant-delete-rant-delete, Sam though he heard the front door and the truck starting up.

After a minute, the curiosity got the better of him and he got up and ventured into the rest of the house. The bacon and egg pie was cut into portions and plated up in the fridge, leftovers for tomorrow, and the truck had gone from the driveway. Part of Sam felt bad, like he wanted to apologise for being so blunt, and ask to talk it out, but the memory from that morning still stung, and he kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the fold-out, pulling the blankets close, part of him wishing that tomorrow he would wake up again in Steve’s bed, this whole terrible day just a dream.

 

The next morning he rechecked his emails, to make sure he hadn’t actually sent any of the heartache he’d typed out the night before, but he breathed a sigh of relief when his sent folder only showed a simple email about the job and the car, to which he’d received a reply only an hour before.

_Sammy! it’s great to hear about the car, now you can come on home, I know your cousins have been missing you and you know your father and I have been worried about your apartment sitting empty for so long. You must be looking forward to getting back to the city…._

Sam shut his laptop to get ready for work, lingering in the den as he heard Steve return from his run, and only emerged when he heard was fairly sure he heard the shower running. He gulped down his coffee and grabbed a slice of the bacon and egg pie to eat in the car and he left before Steve was out of the shower.

  
His mother’s email stayed with him all day, as did the argument with Steve, and Sam perfected his poker face and let time rush past as he filled his day with the now familiar diner routine. He let Clint do all the talking when he sat with him for his break, and didn’t catch up with Nat until he handed over his order pad and she gave him his share of tips. He stared at the small packet, lingering at counter and Nat reached out and brushed his arm.

“What’s up, Wilson?”

“I heard Clint say he might be getting his cast off this week? Is that true?” He asked, the news being one of Clint’s main talking points over lunch.

“Yeah, doc appointment is on Friday, and hopefully it’ll be taken off then.” Nat smiled.

“You’ll be happy about that.” he commented, not quite sure how to bring up what was really on his mind.

“You have no idea, 8 pound of plaster is not the easiest thing to cuddle at night.”

Sam shook his head to clear the image, and Nat peered at him.

“Are you worried we won’t need you, Sam? ‘Cause we can always find something until Steve’s finished your car, not to worry.”

“He’s fixed it.” Sam blurted out, “He gave me the keys yesterday.”

“So you’re thinking of when you’ll be leaving, then?” She said lightly, but Sam reckoned he knew her well enough to know the question was serious.

“You did say you only needed help until the festival.” he hedged around the issue, still trying to decide if he was asking to stay or asking to go.

“And the festival is now done.” She interpreted. “Did you find some work back home?”

“Doesn’t look like I got the job in New Corville, but at some point I gotta get back and start looking for something a bit more permanent.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you guys have been good to me … but I can’t stay here forever.” Sam shrugged, avoiding the core of her question. Now that the festival was over, Clint was on the mend and his car was fixed, was there anything to stay for? He asked himself, resolutely not thinking about Steve.

“I did.”

Sam didn’t say anything to that and eventually Nat sighed.

“How soon are you wanting to head away?”

“Haven’t set a day, but as soon as possible I guess.” He replied, still unconvinced and she seemed to read his indecision.

“Ok well, you let me know when you’ve decided. But can I ask a favour? Any chance you could stay at least until Clint’s seen the doctor? Hang around until the end of the week?”

Sam thought it over. They had been good to him, really good, when he was just a stranger to them. He could do a couple more shifts. Maybe he’d know what it is he wanted by then.

“Yeah. I can do that. Thanks Red.” He pulled a smile onto his face and waved goodbye.

Leaving the diner, Sam remembered how his last conversation with Steve had gone, and while he’d been rightly angry about what had happened between them personally, he knew he hadn’t thanked Steve properly for the work the guy had made on his car. Sam wanted to make sure that even if the last couple of days hadn’t gone well between them, he wanted him to know he was grateful for everything Steve had done up til then. And seeing as he’d refused money again, Sam decided that another trip to the market was in order, to at least repay him in food.

On his way back to Steve’s he wondered how he was going to tell him he was thinking of going. But Sam hadn’t counted on the speed of gossip in a small town, because by the time Steve had made it home, someone had already told him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam prepares to leave, but will the people in this small town let him?

Sam was glad Pete was on shift the following day, the other man’s chattering a welcome entertainment and distraction from his own general moodiness. The way Steve had so matter-of-factly shaken his hand and said “ _ Good luck back in the city.”  _  had solidified the idea that there was nothing more here for Sam, and he emailed his mother to say that he’d be working out the week and then returning, the decision finally made, however cold and empty it felt. A few weeks away from here and he’d forget all of this, he promised himself unconvincingly. 

Just after midday Tony arrived with their usual pomp and ceremony, rounding up Pete and Sam at the counter and waving Happy over from the grill.

“Gather round! I have some important news.” they declared, “As you all know over the Festival, Rhodey and I got engaged…” Tony paused to waggle the diamond on their left hand, “and we’re having a dinner to celebrate! Next Saturday, our place, food, wine,  _ Exploding Kittens _ . Save the date!”

Happy confirmed he’d be there before dashing back to the grill and Pete echoed his agreement and occupied Tony for a minute as they discussed the dress code and plus-one’s and Sam took the opportunity to make a sweep around his tables to refill coffee mugs and clear some plates away. But Tony wouldn’t let him get away without a confirmation, and cornered him at the counter.

“Wilson, that means you too.” They smiled welcomingly. 

Sam’s stomach felt like lead, not really wanting to spoil their announcement with his news, but it seemed like there was no avoiding it. 

“Actually,” Sam started, shrugging apologetically, “I won’t be able to make it.”

Pete turned away from his table, puzzled by what he’d overheard and Tony raised an eyebrow in question.

“Friday is my last day here. I’ll be back in the city this weekend.” Sam explained.

“What? No!” Tony gaped in surprise.

“Dude, you’re leaving us?” Pete looked wounded, his customers completely forgotten as he huddled closer.

“Did something happen?” Tony demanded.

Sam shook his head, not wanting to go into it in the middle of work. “You know I was only here until my car got fixed. It’s fixed now.” 

“Yeah, but…” Pete whined, his table finally flagging down his attention and he ducked away to attend them. 

“Did you tell Steve that you’re leaving?” Tony asked quietly.

“He knows.” Sam said, still feeling bad that he hadn’t been the one to tell him.

“How did he take it?”

Sam sighed. “He said good luck.”

Tony frowned, shaking their head. “Well, since you’ll be missing my party, we’ll have to throw you one of your own.” 

His customers satisfied, Pete came bounding back into the conversation, “Hey that’s a great idea! We can’t let you go without saying goodbye.” 

Sam tried objecting, but it was actually a nice idea and he capitulated. Between Pete and Tony is was agreed that they would meet at the bar after Sam and Nat’s shift tomorrow, inviting anyone they thought might like to say goodbye.  
  
  
  


Thursday when their shift finished, leaving Happy and Dot in charge of the diner, Sam caught a ride with Nat and Clint to the bar, having organised with Happy to drop the keys to the Crown Vic to Dugan once the diner was closed. When Sam had told Steve he said to invite Dugan to come along too, but he had no idea if the big man would, so Sam made sure to leave some gas money in the glove compartment to pay him back, not at all keen on stopping at the gas station if he could damn well help it. Sam didn’t know Sharon or Maria’s number, but Rhodey assured him that they’d been told, and although Maria was working Sharon promised to swing by and Rhodey was going to stop by home to pick up Tony and meet them there.

They rocked up to the bar to find Pete and already waiting and staking a claim over several tables for them to use. Walking in the door, Pete shot up from his seat and walked over and enveloped Sam in a hug.

“There’s my man.” he said, muttering “Gonna miss ya.” into Sam’s ear and Sam hugged him back. He really hadn’t expected these people to care this much, but given the tension between him and Steve, this sort of friendliness was more than appreciated. 

“I already ordered a bunch of wings, nachos and those jalapeno popper things, the kitchen says they’ll be out soon for us.” Pete said to everyone else after he finally released Sam.

“You help my guy to a chair, I’ll grab us some beer.” Nat said, patting him on the arm and Sam and Clint claimed the best spots at the table, and soon after Nat was joining them with several jugs to share around.  

They hang about chatting and Rhodey showed twenty minutes later, letting them know that Tony was going to be running a little bit late but promised to be there, and he was handed a glass of beer and was promptly dragged into mediating the debate between Nat and Pete about what the diner’s holiday window painting should be. Clint kept Sam laughing by yelling in suggestions of the Easter Bunny, a giraffe on a bicycle and Mrs Claus in fishnet stockings. 

By the time Sharon stopped by, the gang had just begun their second round of jukebox roulette where everyone queued up a song and when theirs began to play, they spun a bottle to decide who they had to serenade, trying to see which pair could go the furthest though the song before either of them started laughing or begged out. In the first round Sam laughed almost immediately when Clint squealed the beginning notes of  _ Tragedy _ and Nat only made it to the first chorus of Pete rocking full out to  _ Cherry Bomb.  _ Sam made it halfway through the Carpenters  _ We’ve Only Just Begun  _ before Clint’s mirth spread and Pete couldn’t help but laugh too and Rhodey won hands down, singing  _ Take Me Home Country Roads _ to Clint, which ended with the whole gang singing along. 

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen Tony yet.” Sam mused looking over at the door, as everyone queued up their next lot of songs. Their absence was strange, after insisting on throwing the party, and Sam felt a little hurt. 

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen  _ Steve  _ yet. I mean, what gives?” Clint grunted, refilling his glass.

“Rhodey said Tony was running late. Don’t worry. They’ll get here.” Nat assured Sam, patting his arm, and grabbing the last wing from the platter. 

“Yeah man, they wouldn’t miss this! Have another beer.” Pete poured out the last of the jug into Sam’s glass and ran to the bar to get some more. 

Having missed the first round, Sharon was at the start of the jukebox queue and her of rendition of  _ Black Velvet _ had the gang in awe and set an impossible bar that no one could quite match, although Pete tried his best with  _ We Built This City On Rock and Roll. _ Nat got her fun on grooving to Lionel Ritchie’s  _ All Night Long,  _ that Sam followed with  _ Dancing in the Moonlight _ , and everyone was falling over themselves as Clint tried to make it to the end of  _ Allstar.  _

“Oh my god, guys this is the best.” Sam laughed, wiping his eyes as Smash Mouth faded away. Hanging out with these guys it hit Sam that he had real friends here, and he had to admit, part of him was regretting the decision to leave. 

“I’m gonna miss all of you.” he sighed, leaning on the table.

“Is there nothing we can do to make you stay?” Sharon asked, wrapping an arm over his shoulder and squeezing. He shook his head and stared down at his hands. 

“I know! You could be in my band! Like a guest artist! You’ve got the voice for it-” Pete suggested enthusiastically, and Sam looked up at him. “You could be, I dunno, Captain something…” Pete continued vaguely, hitting his head for ideas. 

“ _ Starlord and the Guardians of the Galaxy _ featuring Captain Something. It has a beautiful ring to it, don’t you think?” Sharon said and the sombre moment dissolved into laughter as Pete shrugged it off. 

“It was just a suggestion.”

Sharon patted Sam on the shoulder and got up to clear some of the clutter from their table and the door thudded behind them and Sam turned to watch as a couple of the pool players left, but no one entered and he slumped back in his chair, shifting under the curious gaze of Sharon and Nat.

Sam overheard one of them ask, “So, did something happen between them?” and that was a question that Sam was in no way prepared to answer tonight, so instead he sculled the last of his drink, set it on the table with a thud and pointed at Clint.

“Hey, Crutches! I wanna see how good you really are. You, me, dartboard.”

“Fuck, yes!” Clint fist pumped and scrambled around for his crutches as Sam pulled himself up from the table, leaning over to Pete.

“Yo, Spaceman! You coming?”

“Me? Yes! What are we doing?” Pete clamoured to his feet, wobbling comically and the three of them made their way over to the dart boards. 

Sam was trying his best to enjoy himself, but he was distracted. Neither Steve or Tony had arrived and with every sound that came from outside of the darts alcove, Sam turned to look if it was either of them walking through the door. 

Clint was indeed as good as everyone had said, and even plied with alcohol, he was still hitting bullseyes on demand. After entertaining themselves for a while by watching Clint hit any number Sam and Pete called out, while Sam and Pete tried to beat each other, they’d taken to the more reckless gambits, where they asked Clint to assume a ridiculous pose and hit a bullseye from there. Having just helped him up from hitting the target while laying on the floor, Pete helped Clint hop around to line himself up for the next challenge - to throw with his eyes covered, and Sam went to get the darts from off the board.  The  _ clang-thud _ in the distance made Sam turn to check the door, but it was only the big greasy guy from the gas station coming in and Sam swore to himself. Fuck him. Turning back, he reached across the board for the last dart and at the same time he heard Pete shout,he felt stabbing pain cut through his hand. He looked up and saw the shiny point of a dart piercing the soft webbing between his thumb and forefinger, a line of blood flowing from where it protruded from his palm and he felt a rush of cold sweep through him. 

“FUCK ME.” he yelled, pain shooting up his arm and he cradled his hand to his chest, staring at the blood pooling in his palm.

“Fuck! Sam are you alright?” Pete called scrambling over to him, leaving Clint, who had dropped the hand from over his eyes, standing alone with only a bar stool to lean on. 

“Shit, man I’m sorry!” Clint swore, hobbling over to them the best he could, his face absolutely stricken with remorse. What the hell? He thought. The shock of the moment had begun to sober Sam up and he looked around dumbly for guidance. He didn’t think he even knew if there was a doctor in this town, or how to get there. 

“Uhh, what the…”

“Oh God, we gotta get that out-”  Pete squirmed, clearly not wanting to go near it, and Sam wasn’t sure that was a good idea but was too stunned to remember what to do. 

“DON’T pull it out!” Sharon cried, she, Nat and Rhodey rushing to join them. “Get me some napkins.” she ordered Nat, “Call Dr. Banner.” she told Rhodey and the two of them dashed off while Sharon stayed, taking the napkins from Nat and gently wrapping them around either side of his hand, careful not to move the dart too much. 

Rhodey reappeared to tell them that Dr Banner would meet them at his clinic and Sharon, who the most sober, guided Sam out to her car, the last impression Sam had of the bar was a dozen curious faces watching them as she lead him out the door, and he thought he saw the gas station shark laughing. Fucker. Sam scowled.

“Hell of a fucking send off.” Sam muttered, climbing into Sharon’s sedan, swearing the wad of napkins moved jarring his hand and dripping onto the seat. 

“Fuck! Ah sorry, I’m getting blood all over your car.” he grimaced, trying to wipe it with his other sleeve, only smearing it further. 

“We’ll deal with your hand first, then you can scrub my upholstery, deal?” She said firmly, and Sam complied, getting in properly and Sharon helped him with his seatbelt before closing his door and getting in the driver’s side. He leaned his head back against the headrest and looked her way. 

“Thanks for doing this girl, can’t be much fun for you on your night off.”

“Hey, us rink kids gotta stick together. Besides, no one else was sober enough to drive.”

Being a small town, it was only a couple of minutes and they were pulling into the clinic parking lot, a couple of lights on inside and a nurse waiting at the door to usher them inside to a sparsely decorated doctor’s office, the faded mint green walls reminding Sam of his grandmother’s formica dinner table and he wondered if they’d updated anything in this room since the 1970’s.

Dr Banner was a middle aged man with wiry greying hair and plain glasses and gentle hands. A couple of stitches and a tetanus shot later, Sam was sent away with a short dose of painkillers to get him through the night and a prescription to fill in the morning, and a bandage encasing his hand to stop it from moving. 

Climbing back inside Sharon’s car, Sam sighed and then frowned, turning to look at Sharon who was looking at him from the driver’s seat, having made no move to start the engine. 

“You gonna tell me what happened between you two?” She asked bluntly, and Sam sighed and looked up at the ceiling of the car. He was too tired to bluff, too tired to fight, too tired of holding it all in and he caved to the concern, his words strained and empty. She listened as he said it all, from waking up alone, to talking over his options with Nat, to Happy telling him first. When he stopped he didn’t know would think, he was just relieved to not be carrying it alone. 

“Do you really want to leave?” She asked softly.

Sam shook his head, admitting it finally, but shrugged helplessly. “How do I stay when he’s already said good luck and goodbye?”

Neither of them could offer any answer, and outside the car, Dr Banner was locking up the clinic and it was time to go. Sharon then drove him back to Steve’s who met them at the door. 

“Sam! I was worried-” Steve started but Sharon cut him off with a stare.

“Yeah, real worried.” Sam grumbled sarcastically, the alcohol had definitely worn off and even through the anaesthetic his hand kinda throbbed and all he wanted to do was sleep. He pushed his way past and headed straight for the den and when closing the door behind him he could hear the two of them talking, an edge to their voices. Go on Deputy, you tell him. Sam thought groggily as the weight of the day dragged him to sleep, not even changing out of his bloodstained clothes.   
  
  
  


The next morning Sam had thrown his bag in the trunk of the Saturn and tidied the den while Steve was out for his usual morning run, just in case Sam felt like he couldn’t face going back there after his last shift at the diner. Sam still hadn’t forgiven him for not showing at the bar, despite Steve saying that he had turned up, but only after Sharon had taken Sam to the doctor. It didn’t change how Sam felt, because Steve had still missed most of the party, and Sam could only bitterly assume that that was an indication of, despite what Sharon said, what he really meant to Steve. 

He pulled the old purple car into the small parking lot next the old bank and after running across the road to the Pharmacy to fill his prescription, headed off to the work. He did his best to put it all out of his mind, but he couldn’t help but categorize everything as the last time he would be here and the last time he’d likely see these people. And while Nat and Rhodes weren't the most talkative of people anyway, even they seemed a little more subdued than usual. The bandage restricted movement in his hand, but he was managing ok even if it was twinging on him as he moved.

It was a couple of hours into his shift when Sam was broken from his work mode by a booming voice at the door. 

“WILSON.”

Everyone in the diner turned to see the grim face of Tim Dugan peering through the open doorway, wearing the same orange hunting jacket and giving Sam flashbacks to his first encounter with the big man. When his eyes found Sam, Sam felt something inside go cold. 

“Sam, someone’s messing with your car. C’mon.” he motioned with his head and Sam looked to Nat who shrugged, eyes wide with the surprise and waved for him to go. He dropped his order pad on the counter and dashed out the door after the big man, still wearing his apron and the eyes of his co-workers and customers following him out the window. He could see people watching from across the street, and a  He heard it before he saw it.

“What have you got to say, huh? You rotten scamming toerag!?”

What he saw was Steve, hands gripped tight on the shirt of a smaller, greasier looking man, pining the frightened guy over the trunk of Sam’s car. Sam couldn’t even tear his eyes away from Steve to look at his car, his face was pure fury and he was using his greater height and strength to keep the guy, who Sam now recognised as the weaselly looking guy who came out of the garage to offer help when he went for gas, from getting away. The guy was spluttering and shaking.

“What the fuck…?” Sam trailed off and Dugan clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, the deputy has been called. Scumbag won’t get away with it this time.”

Sam couldn’t see anything wrong with his car from where he was and he was too stunned to ask just what had evoked such a reaction in Steve. A blip of a siren cut through the air and a Sheriff's Department cruiser pulled up at the curb and out stepped Maria Hill in full uniform. Surveying the scene, she pulled a notebook from her jacket and looked at the people present. 

“Can someone tell me what started this?”

Steve straightened just enough to let his captive get to his feet, but kept a firm hold because the guy looked like he was ready to bolt. Dugan stepped up to answer her questions while Steve took a few deep breaths to calm himself. 

“Rogers and I were walking past and and saw Rollins here messing with the tires, he tried to run when he saw us so Steve grabbed him so he wouldn’t get away. I called you and -” the big man got cut off by the protestation of the accused. 

“I didn’t do anything!” The weaselly guy finally found his voice, trying to push away from Steve, but Steve backed him into the car again.

“Then why are his tyres going flat?” Steve growled. Maria stepped into the parking lot to investigate the accusation, and Sam’s view was blocked by the railing. Rollins tried squawking another protest but was shut down again by Steve.

“This car was in perfect working condition when it left my place this morning.” He said coolly. 

“Is this your car, Steve?” she asked and Sam stepped forward. 

“It’s my car.” he said, and this was when Steve finally looked up, his demeanor calming down almost instantly to one of shame upon seeing Sam. 

“And you can confirm that your car wasn’t in this condition when you left it here?” Maria asked, and Sam finally got to see that, yes, one of his tyres was mostly flat, and the other on that side had a nail or something similar sticking out of the air valve and was looking significantly deflated as well. 

“There was nothing wrong with my tyres when I parked it.” Sam confirmed and Maria nodded, jotting his testimony down, before pocketing the notebook, pulling out her phone and taking a few photos then unhooking a pair of cuffs from the back of her belt. 

“I’ll take him from here, Steve.”

He offered the guy to her and with a deft flick she had Rollins cuffed and pulled him away from the parking lot and towards her cruiser. 

“What about Rogers? Why isn’t he getting cuffed for assaulting me?” Rollins protested as he was shoved into the backseat. Deputy Hill looked over at Rogers, who straightened, seeming ready to accept the possibility, then turned back to Rollins.

“I didn’t see anything.” She said calmly, closing the door on his snarling face and her eyes flicking to Sam momentarily and for a second he swore he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. 

“Alright, I’m going to want statements from you, you and you.” She said, pointing to Steve, Dugan and Sam.  “So I want to see you down at the station inside the next hour. Sam,” she called, “I’m going to need to take your keys, your car is now evidence and I can’t have you move it until this is resolved.”

He dug his keys from his pocket, handing it to her tentatively. “When can I get them back? I’m meant to be leaving town.”

Maria deposited the keyring into a thin clear evidence bag, wrote Sam’s name on the label, closed it and slid it into the inside pocket of her jacket. “Not anymore you’re not. You can collect them Monday morning from the Sheriff’s Department.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. This can’t possibly be happening. “Can I at least get my bag outta the trunk? All my clothes are in there.” he begged.

Maria shook her head. “Borrow some. Steve looks about your size.” She said, nodding in Steve’s direction then reminded them once again to be at the station within the hour and got into the cruiser and left. 

“Sam,” Steve started and Sam in his disbelief at what just happened, cut him off.

“I’m not gonna borrow your clothes, dude.”

“I wanted to leave you a note this time.”

“What?” 

Steve unzipped the pocket of his jacket and held out an envelope, not able to meet Sam’s eye. Sam looked at him and walked over and took it from him, tearing it open and unfolding the paper inside. 

 

_ You asked me what happened.  _

_ We were out of bacon. I wanted to make you breakfast, but we were out of bacon. So I went to get my truck and stop by the market on the way home.  _

_ I should have told Mr Pym I’d be by later. I’m so sorry I didn’t. Then I lost track of time and when I got back, you were already at work. I did that wrong, and I have to live with that. Then when I heard you might be leaving, I didn’t think I had the right to ask you to stay.  _

_ You asked me what I am, and I guess what I am is lonely. I’ve been perfectly fine on my own, my friends and my work has been enough for me, but now it’s not. It’s been so long since I felt this way about anybody, and I was so happy with you. You’re a good man Sam, and I messed it up.  _

_ I didn’t want to come to the bar last night because I didn’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want you to go. _

 

Sam read it over twice, and then a third time to let it all sink in as his mind raced through the memory of the past week. He’d been so butthurt that they never sat down and talked about it, and if only they had he wouldn’t be standing there, car impounded, stitches in his hand and an unnecessary ache in his heart. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been.

“Fucking idiot.” Sam muttered and next to him, Steve bristled. Sam saw him clenching his jaw and realised that Steve must have misheard and he rushed to reassure him. 

“I meant me. I’m the fucking idiot. I… I don’t want to go either.”

His admission caused Steve’s face to soften and he heard Dugan behind them mutter, “ _ Finally. Took you assholes long enough.” _ and they both looked around, as if suddenly aware of where they’d decided to make their confessions. Steve ran a hand through his hair and started to take a step back.

_ Fuck it. _ Sam thought, he was stuck in town for the weekend anyway. Tell him how you really feel. He shoved the note into his apron, stepping forward and reaching his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him forward and pausing just enough to avoid crashing noses or teeth, closed the distance with a kiss. 

His heart sang as Steve wrapped his arms around him, meeting his kiss hungrily, lips needy and tongue searching, and around them he heard cheers and applause. Sam broke away only so far to look down and say in disbelief,

“They’re clapping for us? They’re really fucking clapping?”

“Yes they are.” Steve laughed into Sam’s ear, and damn if that wasn’t the prettiest sound he’d ever heard. 

“Fuck, I hate small towns.” Sam swore and Steve lifted his chin so that Sam was looking up into his eyes, and they were sparkling, and damn, if that wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever seen also. 

“No you don’t.” Steve chided, smiling with his whole face and Sam sighed. 

“No, I don’t.” he agreed, pulling Steve down for another kiss, spectacle be damned. He was happy and he was here, and like the Deputy Sheriff said, he wasn’t going anywhere.


End file.
